


Collateral

by wildfillysama



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: But Not Much, Humour, M/M, Obliviousness, Romance, kind of plot-necessary angsting at points, not sure how long this is going to be, perfectworldshipping - Freeform, still not sure how long this is going to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildfillysama/pseuds/wildfillysama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Augustine Sycamore was a brilliant researcher, but not necessarily the most observant one. </p><p>That being said, even he didn't usually get locked in broom cupboards when the world was ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The ground was shaking. Peals of unearthly shrieking resounded through the air. Lysandre’s doomsday device was rising from the depths of Geosenge Town. The world was going to hell.

And Professor Augustine Sycamore had somehow managed to choose now, of all times, to get stuck in a particularly awkward social situation. Also a broom closet.

Sycamore felt that he really could have done a better job at dissolving the situation. Or at least, at correctly identifying the right door for his dramatic exit from Lysandre’s office.

It was almost hysterical to think that the world was about to end at the hands of his megalomaniacal supposed friend, while he himself was stuck balancing between a mop bucket and a vacuum cleaner. 

It made the whole thing slightly anticlimactic.

The events of the day had been slightly odd, in fairness. Being plastered against the wall of the ungainly broom cupboard gave Sycamore a peculiar sense of serenity. He was locked inside, and had no recourse for escape or assistance. The world was ending, and there wasn’t a damn thing that he could do to stop it.

But all things considered, the image glued to the forefront of his mind was still the startled look on Lysandre’s face, moments before the door was slammed shut and the lock soundly clicked.

Honestly, what had he expected?

It hadn’t been enough to send Dexio and Sina to Lysandre Labs after the… distressing broadcast. Serena and the others were doubtless trying to find a way to stop Lysandre. And all Sycamore had been able to do was sit back in his chair, safe in his lab, and wonder how the hell it had all gone so wrong.

How could he not have seen it coming?

Weren’t they friends? At least, he had thought they were. How could he have been so wrong? 

So, after Lysandre’s broadcast he had found himself hailing a taxi and speeding off in pursuit of Team Flare, and more particularly its leader, as fast as he could. It had cost him a fortune, and hadn’t happened immediately, but his instincts were good. He eventually found the man. 

Why on earth would the articulate, beauty-fixated businessman suddenly go so completely off the rails? It made no sense. He hadn’t seen it coming. He’d known the man for _years_ and not seen any of this coming. 

At least here, locked in the dark and with only his impending mortality to consider, he had time to reflect and wonder just how he could have missed the signs.

From memory, he had met Lysandre not that long ago. Maybe three years ago at most. He couldn’t remember the exact date. It had been at a conference of some kind, discussing the discovery of fairy Pokémon. It had been a massive event. Professors from all over the world had shown up to offer their interpretations and suggest further research topics. Mega Evolution, Sycamore’s pride and joy, had also been on the table, but only as a side panel. Quite literally, in fact. When he first saw Lysandre, it had been when he was poring over the final version of his speech, strewn all over one of the cheap fold-out tables in the lecture theatre. 

Namely, he had noticed him when he’d nearly thrown a pile of files at the other man.

“Oops, sorry!” He had stammered, grabbing back the sheaf of paper as the other man thumbed through the top sheets, apparently unconcerned by the sudden jettison of paper in his general direction. “Sorry! Really sorry. I’m still trying to memorise these. Sorry. I mean – you can read them after I’m done, if you like.”

Lysandre had responded with a thin-lipped smile, and Sycamore had then noticed just what a statement his hair truly was. Then he realised that he was staring, and started to apologise again.

“It is no matter,” said Lysandre calmly. He passed the remaining pages back to the professor. Sycamore accepted them gratefully, then stooped to collect the rest of the fallout from his little stumble. Lysandre handed him one of the folders with a wry look on his face.

“I am very intrigued by your topic, but regrettably I have already promised to attend another speaker’s presentation. Would you consider meeting with me later, to discuss these matters? It is possible that I, and my company, for that matter, may be of value to your research.”

Someone willing to sit and listen to his topic, even after nearly getting flattened by his papers? Sycamore couldn’t have been more sold if the offer had come with a complimentary Mega Ring.

“Certainly! I would be delighted, Mr…?”

“Lysandre.” Was that a surname or a first name? Was it polite to ask? Sycamore nodded sagely in response.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lysandre,” he offered. “I’m Augustine Sycamore.” He paused. “You can call me either of those. Meet you at the hotel bar after the panels are done? They have tables. I feel like I should buy you a drink after nearly impaling you with all my paperwork.”

“That would be agreeable.” Lysandre nodded slightly. “My thanks for your consideration. I hope that your presentation goes well.”

He remembered grinning. “Of course! It’ll be a breeze.”

Regrettably, the presentation was not a breeze. In a fit of excitement, Sycamore had knocked all of his papers flying from the podium, costing precious minutes of question time as he struggled to reorder a presentation that apparently did not have page numbers on it. He ad-libbed most of the final sections, and was privately impressed that he had not actually died from embarrassment.

Hopefully the other professors would pin it all on his youthful enthusiasm and naivety, and not a complete absence of social grace.

Which once again, brought him back to his current location in a broom closet.

Honestly, if you had asked him how he thought that he might end up spending doomsday, he would not have guessed ‘trapped and confused inside a utility room.’

His beloved Pokémon, presumably far more proficient at getting out of small spaces than he, had been seized and placed in a storage vault in the room just beyond the door. Lysandre had been unexpectedly deft, sweeping all three of them from his belt in one quick move, before yanking the door shut. Sycamore assumed that he had only his own lack of coordination and general surprise to blame for that particular slip. But, in fairness, he hadn't really expected to end up face-to-face with a mop, let alone suddenly have his Pokémon stolen. Maybe they would be safe in that vault. Or maybe they were just as doomed as he. It was a depressing thought, either way.

In addition to all the horrors of the day, he was also annoyingly desperate for a drink. Something he had shared with his younger self back at that conference. Back then, Lysandre’s very distinctive silhouette had approached him well into his third drink and making no signs of slowing down. In hindsight, it may not have made the best of impressions.

“Hello… Lysandre, wasn’t it? Take a seat! Take it anywhere.” He had waved expansively. Paper slipped to the floor, following his slackened body, and he decided to leave it there. It looked like it was having fun.

“You appear to be feeling slightly merry, Professor Sycamore.” Lysandre informed him, looking slightly askance and not in the least bit inclined to approach a chair, let alone whisk it away to exciting destinations. His eyes fell to the paper on the floor, but he made no move to pick it up.

“Merry or embarrassed? I’m not sure I can tell right now. Empty stomach helps with that. Would you like a drink? I got a bottle of red, but it seems to be broken.”

“Half-empty, Professor. Not broken.” Lysandre blinked and gestured to the bartender for another glass. He didn’t look too sure that he wanted to be there, but in fairness, hadn’t bolted.

“So, you’re a half-empty kind of person? Natural pessimist, I see. Makes sense. I reckon I could have done with some of that in-built caution today. Maybe I would have stapled my papers together if I had. I nearly took out some old lady’s eye sitting in the front row. What a disaster. I forgot how to say _Garchomp_ for crying out loud!”

“Ah, I see.” Lysandre seemed to reach a decision. He quickly scooped up the stray research materials and dumped them into Sycamore’s lap. Then he eased into the free seat, pallid face stark against his bright red hair, but starting to look slightly more sympathetic. Or at least a little less appalled. “I take it from your less than buoyant state that your presentation did not go well.”

Sycamore nodded, sipping at his wine miserably. “The content was perfect! It was just the human error that got in the way. I need acting classes or something. I’m fine one-on-one. I suck up in front of a crowd.”

Lysandre had raised an eyebrow, glancing away briefly to accept a clean glass from the bartender. Remembering his manners, Sycamore poured him a slightly shaky glass of wine. He was impressed that only one slosh ended up on the table.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you like that. And spill wine on your sleeve. Really sorry. It's been one of those days, I'm afraid.” He apologised. “Would you like to read the paper? I promise I’ll shut up for a moment. And stop trying to handle beverages.”

Lysandre accepted the file silently, flipping open the cover and beginning to read immediately. Sycamore sat quietly, trying not to twiddle his thumbs. He turned to his glass of wine for distraction, and was most displeased to find it empty, as well as to realise that he had broken his promise in less than thirty seconds. He cringed, but figured that he was committed now, and reached for the bottle. Much to his surprise, he noticed that his drinking partner had surreptitiously reached out and shifted it slightly out of reach. Lysandre did not look up from the paper.

“I will have questions for you after this, Professor Sycamore. Please indulge me and refrain from topping up your glass for the moment.”

Sycamore had wanted to be offended, but the intent look on Lysandre’s face had done briefly confusing things to his powers of thought and he settled instead for nodding inanely and staring off at the painting on the wall. 

A little while later, Lysandre seemed to come to the end of the paper. He looked up. “This is the full extent of your work so far?” His tone seemed caught between criticism and commendation. 

“No, there’s more." He admitted slowly. "But I only wanted to reveal what I know for certain. I’m also running experiments on which kinds of Pokémon can have a Mega Evolution. There are a few recorded instances of stones that can trigger it, but why only these particular Pokémon? Why not all? What are the stones made from?”

“Important questions all,” Lysandre conceded, eyes glittering. “How much progress have you made?”

He shrugged modestly. “I’ve only been working with my own Garchomp, so it’s pretty much just focused on her. I’d love to get my hands on some more Pokémon for further study, but I’ve only just got my tenure. I can’t blow my whole budget in less than a year. I’ve got to get some big results out and then go asking for money.”

Lysandre cocked his head to one side, threatening to impale his shoulder with those hair spikes. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking, Professor Sycamore?”

“Twenty-three. In July.”

Lysandre reached for the bottle and slowly topped up the other man’s wine glass. “That is quite a feat. Your work truly is as impressive as I’d suspected.”

He laughed that one off. “I’m good on paper, but I’m not much of a public speaker. It’s a shame that all these events need you to be both! I’ve always been rubbish at speaking in public. I take one look at a crowded room and forget which language I’m meant to be using.” He took another sip of wine. 

Lysandre was watching him carefully. Even in the pleasantly tipsy haze of his brain, Sycamore began to feel a little self-conscious. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all, Professor Sycamore. It occurred to me that I could assist you in developing your public speaking skills. As CEO of Lysandre Laboratories, I have been able to hone these abilities considerably. It is not a skill with which we are all born.” He gave the man a small smile. “My first intention had been to offer you a research budget. But I think perhaps that public-speaking classes would be more beneficial in the grand scheme of the promotion of your work.”

Sycamore sat right up. “Lysandre?”

Of course! He _had_ heard that name before! Now he felt even more like an idiot. Plus he had a feeling that he had missed an insult in there somewhere. Never mind.

The man appeared to mistake his sudden recognition for surprise at his offer.

“I would like to support your research,” Lysandre continued firmly. He leaned forward, ignoring the wine glass and coming within a hair's breadth of knocking it over. “Mega Evolution is a thing of beauty in a world that continually dwells on the pedestrian and utilitarian. Such expansive celebrations of form, such perfection of beautiful features… it does not serve any practical purpose as far as the Pokémon are concerned, but it is still performed. It is not necessary, but it is quite staggering. I anticipated that your work would not curry much interest, since it does not perceptively impact on battling. I am prepared to offer you whatever support seems necessary, and in this case, it would appear that you would be best served with assistance in developing your public speaking skills.”

Well. Apparently he had just blown his first ever outside funding offer. What else could he do but smile? He motioned with an offer to top up the other guy’s wine glass. Lysandre accepted with a curt nod.

“I think you’re right.” Sycamore said finally. “I need to be able to present these findings in public. If I keep making a mess of it, it doesn’t matter how much funding I get; I’ll still blow it every time I try to tell anyone. I need to stop letting my lab down like this. It’s not fair on everyone who depends on me.”

The alcohol sloshing around in his brain was not being terribly helpful, but he sat up as straight as he could and fixed Lysandre with the most grateful and sincere expression he could manage. “Thank you, mon ami. I would love to receive your help. It would mean a lot to me.”

Something had twitched above Lysandre’s forehead. Sycamore downed the rest of his wine, and was a bit unclear about how he got back up to his room that night.

Back in his cupboard, the mop slipped and banged against Sycamore’s neck with far more vehemence than a household utensil should ever have. He yelped despite himself, blindly shoving the mop away. He leaned forward, pushing again at the locked door. It shook mildly on its hinges, but failed to burst open. 

“Lysandre!” He shouted. His voice bounced awkwardly in the confined space. There was no answer from the office. 

Honestly. He had had two choices of exit. He could have gone straight out the door, down the hallway, and out into the street to die with the rest of non-Team Flare humanity like a man. But no, he had marched right into the broom closet, cunningly located right beside the exit. And then Lysandre, for reasons entirely outside the scope of reason, had divested him of his team, and _had locked him in there._

There was a joke in there somewhere. There had to be. Aside from his life, that is.

The rumbling overhead seemed to be getting louder. Sycamore sagged onto his knees, wincing against the bare concrete. The room was unbearably stuffy. At least that shouldn’t be a problem for long, he thought mulishly. 

Impending death should have been at the forefront of his mind, but it was still competing for position with the memory of Lysandre’s stunned face. More interestingly, it seemed to be losing.

In hindsight, why, exactly, had he come charging into the labs? Surely he should have stopped off at the police station and informed them that he may know where Team Flare was operating, and led them here? 

More importantly, or rather- more curiously - why had his keycard into the building still worked? Surely Lysandre would have had it deactivated after declaring war on the world. It seemed like a bit of an oversight to leave a key for one of your inadvertent 'enemies'. Sycamore frowned into the gloom. That just didn't sound right at all. How could they possibly be on opposite sides? They'd never even had an argument, for crying out loud!

He hadn’t used the card recently, he supposed. Maybe Lysandre had just forgotten all about it. When he started making what became a regular trip into the heart of Lumiose City, Lysandre had preferred to meet him in the café at the entrance, rather than going all the way into the Lab buildings. Even back then, Sycamore remembered making a comment about the garish interior.

“It’s very… red… isn’t it?”

“It’s a beautiful colour,” Lysandre admonished. He was wearing a suitably dramatic suit and his hair showed no shame in reaching into the personal bubbles of all who walked past him. Sycamore felt none too shabby in his labcoat as a result. At least his fashion statements weren’t spiky. He gratefully accepted the cappuccino pushed in his direction. “It is also exceptionally easy for visitors to remember. Why not have a beautiful café that also serves as a landmark?”

“I thought you weren’t big on utilitarian stuff,” Sycamore teased. The coffee was delicious. He didn’t even spill it on himself either. Today was a good day. “Why is your precious café working a part-time job as a sign?”

Lysandre inclined his head, face stern. “Indeed, I am not. However, since you walked past this café four times while looking for it, I do not believe that it is entirely victim to this definition.”

“If you saw me walking past, why didn’t you come out sooner?! I thought I was on the wrong street entirely!”

Lysandre gave him a faintly amused look. “I eventually rescued you, did I not? After all, I have other appointments today. I could not sit here forever and wait for you to realise where you were.”

“Very funny. You sit there looking all serious, but I know that there’s a sense of humour in you somewhere.” Sycamore took a deeper swig of his coffee, burned his tongue, and successfully quashed a yelp. His drinking partner raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. 

“Hardly. But it would be difficult for me not to notice a joke when I see one.”

“Ouch, Lysandre. What a burn. Are you going to live up to your offer of help, or is this just an excuse for you to make fun of me until I get a thicker skin and don’t freak out in public speaking events quite so much?” He cringed slightly. “Sorry about that again.” 

“See? There’s that analytical brain at last. I knew that with sufficient goading it would reappear.” The smirk was there to stay, and the CEO took a prim sip of his coffee while Sycamore tried to arrange his face into something that wasn’t obvious outrage.

“Very funny. I see what you’re playing at.” He huffed and set down his cappuccino, no longer trusting its temperature control. 

“You’re a young professor, Sycamore,” Lysandre explained quietly. “You’re new to this game. You got in based on your research, but now if you want to thrive, you’re going to need to enhance your abilities to work with people not necessarily in your field. If you cannot learn how to promote your work amongst those not already convinced of its worth, then your laboratory is not going to stay open. Your recognised tenure is worth nothing if you yourself cannot communicate results.”

“I know, I know. I’m good on paper, but a bit rough in person. I can admit that. But you try spending five years of your life doing solo work in a lab and then suddenly getting told that you’ve got to perform on a stage!”

“Our experiences are not quite so removed,” Lysandre reminded him. “Do you think that my company was always so large and influential? My family’s… social standing… equipped me with the ability to command respect and attention in a meeting, but that was not enough. If you want to succeed, you need to learn to stand as though the world is here to listen _to you_ and no one else.”

Sycamore risked a sip of his coffee, which now tasted a lot like burnt tastebuds. “So you think I should be more self-confident.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Lysandre seemed to latch on to the concept.

“I have read your work, Augustine Sycamore.” Lysandre hissed. “I have read _all of it_. Even your early publications. You and your researchers are on track to making some of the biggest discoveries that have ever been made. Whether or not you believe in your merits as a public speaker is not important. What is important is that you _do_ get this work out there. Yours is the only lab that is remotely close to these discoveries.”

“You sound pretty invested.” Sycamore replied mildly, but his head was spinning. The look on Lysandre’s face was incredibly intense. Not to mention his own head had probably gained a few pounds from all that praise. “Are you hoping to Mega Evolve your own Pokémon, or something?”

Lysandre sat back, folding his arms. “That would be ideal, but I will not insist on such a result immediately. I will settle for your wholehearted dedication to your work, and your refraining from self-sabotage via inelegant speaking attempts.”

“Ouch. Fine.” Sycamore leant forward, narrowly avoiding sticking his elbow into his coffee. “I’m not too proud to accept advice from people I barely know. I hear you. What do you suggest that I do? My next conference isn’t for another four and a half weeks. I’ve got a paper to write and research to complete. I can’t exactly take time out of that schedule for lessons on posture and speech.”

Lysandre shook his head. “You don’t need that, Sycamore. If you can explain yourself to me and still hold your head high _and stop slouching_ , then that should be enough. You will feel a difference during your next speech. I assure you.”

Sycamore blinked. “So, you want to keep meeting up like this? For chats?”

“Is that not agreeable to you?” There was something careful in Lysandre’s tone. Sycamore shrugged breezily.

“Nope, not a problem at all. I mean, I get free coffee here, don’t I? Since you own the place, that is.” 

Lysandre looked confused, then his lips settled into a thin line. “Very well.”

Sycamore chuckled. “That was a joke, Lysandre. I can pay for my own drinks. Hell, since you’re helping me out, I could even shout you a few of your own coffees.”

And that was the funny thing. It _was_ helping him out. Years of researching quietly by himself, only really talking to his family and some old friends on his rare nights off, had really got him out of the way of speaking to strangers. But somehow, Lysandre didn’t feel like a stranger. He was a person who seemed to demand familiarity upon meeting. He refused to be ignored, or considered alien. It was a little unnerving how easy it had been to converse with him, let alone agree to further conversing.

That being said, Augustine Sycamore still felt that he really couldn’t be blamed for not sensing the man’s desire to destroy the world and lock him in a broom cupboard while he did it.


	2. Chapter Two

Time crept away slowly. It felt like he had been inside the cupboard for hours, but the glowing hands of his wristwatch told him that it had been closer to twenty minutes. How long would the weapon take to activate? Had the others managed to get to the base in time? The questions were driving him mad. Had he had the space for it, he would have tried to pace, but the room was barely two steps in either direction. The heat was still unpleasantly high, but not dangerously so. Pressing his face to the gap in the door, Sycamore could take in a little dose of cool air. He could also discern that there was no one else in the room. 

Perhaps that was for the best.

He wracked his brains. How exactly did Lysandre’s world-ending device work? Was he planning on blowing up the entire Kalos region, the entire world, or was it some more specific weapon? Could he choose what would be eliminated? He had seemed convinced that he could spare the lives of all the Team Flare members. There must be some kind of trick to whatever it was that he was using.

Unless, of course, that had just been a convenient lie to get Team Flare on board with his plans.

It’s a truly depressing thing to consider that your old friend may not only be a genocidal megalomaniac, but also a suicidal liar.

He couldn’t help but feel that he really should have at least _noticed_ that something was wrong. 

Augustine Sycamore would be the first to admit that he could be a bit slow when it came to processing social cues, but he would like to think that he had been improving in that regards. Thanks, ironically enough, to Lysandre's input.

Lysandre had always been the picture of cool courtesy during their meetings. He had set up a coffee tab at the café for Sycamore and insisted that he visit at least once per week to ‘practice speaking to people and not just talking to yourself in the bowels of the lab.’ 

Honestly. He hardly ever did that any more. The accusation was entirely unfounded. 

That being said, he still found himself nodding along and agreeing. The heavily subsidised coffee may have had something to do with it. Also, now that he knew where the café actually _was_ it really wasn’t that hard to nip over from the lab every so often. The fresh air was a pleasant change too.

The chats themselves weren't too stressful either. They seemed to start out pretty uniformly. Sycamore would arrive more or less on time, and Lysandre would already have a table set aside for them and waiting. He would be given a paper or some kind of report on public speaking or motivational speaking skills in general to peruse while Lysandre sipped his coffee, and then they would discuss it. Then, they would move on to other topics.

"What are your thoughts about art, Sycamore?" He remembered being asked one time. "Your laboratory is very near the Lumiose art gallery after all." Lysandre had almost visibly relaxed into the spindly little café chair. There wasn't quite a smile on his face, but his frown was slightly softer. Sycamore didn't take it too personally. Some people just have naturally foreboding faces. A bit like a Gyarados. Or a Pyroar. 

He was keeping that little comparison to himself. That was for sure. 

"Ah, to be honest I do not know very much about art. I do like it well enough, but I've always been more interested in the scientific side of things. I think I may have visited the gallery once, back when I first arrived? I'm not sure. I certainly don't have anything against looking at art."

Lysandre had huffed, looking slightly put out. Sycamore sipped at his coffee. "I suppose I should have been a little more open-minded in my youth," he reasoned. "I mean- I decided that I wanted to study Pokémon evolution pretty early on. I didn't get much of a chance to travel or do anything outside of research." 

Lysandre gave him a careful look. "Would you be inclined to broaden your horizons now that you have something approximating job security?"

"Provided I don't accidentally knock over my next big financial supporter? Yeah, why not?" He grinned. "I'm still just so amazed to have my own lab, Lysandre! It's surreal, but in the nicest way possible." He set down his cup thoughtfully. "But you're right. I've put a lot of other things to the side in order to achieve this dream. Maybe now wouldn't be such a bad time to explore other things? As long as it doesn't interfere with my work schedule, I don't see why I can't start going out and doing other things."

The realisation had been like a bucket of cold water, in the best possible way. _He had done it._ The hard part was over. He had his whole life of research ahead of him to puzzle out Mega Evolution.

"In that case, would you consider relocating one of our meetings to another venue?"

Sycamore blinked. "You mean, would I like to go with you to the art gallery?"

Lysandre said nothing, but Sycamore assumed by the glower on the other man's face that he had more or less translated the question accurately. "Yes, of course! I would very much enjoy that."

The other man had looked slightly stunned. "Very well. Next week, in lieu of our usual meeting place?"

It was agreed. Sycamore still remembered that little outing very well. He hadn't been terribly good at taking in the names and styles of the artists, but Lysandre seemed to be something of an expert. 

"Do you have a Masters in Art History as well, by any chance?" He asked him, amused and exasperated at the same time. They had been examining a picture of the Glittering Caves. "There's no way you can tell that much about all those different shades of black paint!"

"No, regrettably I am only a dedicated amateur. In addition, I may have listened to the audio guide several times." There had been a wicked look in his eye. Sycamore gasped in mock outrage and gave the taller man a light shove. 

"Cheating! Most outrageous. I am stunned and appalled!"

The small chuckle that he rung from Lysandre was a fleeting thing indeed, but for some reason, he was hanging on to that memory awfully tight right now. 

"Exercising one's memory faculties does not count as 'cheating', Professor Sycamore."

"Withholding references in order to get further credit is though," he admonished. "Never mind. It's a lovely picture. Have you seen the caves for yourself?"

Lysandre nodded gravely. "They are truly magnificent, if rather abundantly populated by Pokémon who enjoy battling."

"Maybe I should visit one day." Sycamore mused. Then he stopped with a laugh. "Listen to me! All of these things I've suddenly realised that I can do. You've created a monster, my friend."

"Perhaps." There was humour in Lysandre's eyes.

How long had it been since he had last seen that kind of relaxed enjoyment in the other man's face? Sycamore wasn't too sure. The realisation sank to the bottom of his stomach like a brick. His research had been... somewhat frantic of late. In fact, his meeting with Serena and her friends had almost precisely coincided with his most recent, massive publication on Mega Evolution. The young trainer's ability to wield the Mega Ring had only added even more chapters to his next proposed book of findings. His life these days looked an awful lot like the glowing screen of a monitor and keyboard.

Lysandre didn't call very often. Sometimes Sycamore would dash off a text message in excitement about one of his more recent discoveries. _Charizard has two options for Mega Evolution!! Two!! Could any other Pokémon possibly have this?_ _Remind me not to antagonise Blaziken again. It does NOT have two Mega Evolutions and does not take kindly to prodding._

Lysandre's responses had been swift. _Exciting news indeed, Sycamore. I look forward to reading about your findings, or speaking to you about them in person._ And _Don't be an imbecile, Augustine. You should know better than that by now!_

In fairness, he kind of had that one coming.

As his need for public-speaking assistance waned, Sycamore noticed that he and Lysandre still kept finding reasons to meet up during the week, occasionally under very flimsy educational guises. It was really rather amusing. If it wasn't to discuss one of their findings, then it was to 'assist' Sycamore in seeing more of the world, since apparently a research trip to Sinnoh to study with Professor Rowan did not count. Sycamore didn't exactly protest about it. It was nice to have a friend who was so passionate and full of ideas. Somehow their discussions always seemed to turn towards some kind of monologue on what Lysandre found particularly beautiful that day, but no one's perfect. Sycamore didn't complain. It was enjoyable to watch the man speak about something that inspired him so. But either way, he hadn’t been terribly shocked when the other man had suggested that they meet up at yet _another_ art gallery.

“In Couriway Town?” He had asked, surprised. “I had no idea that they even had a gallery. They certainly didn't back when I was there for Christmas.” He distinctly remembered getting that call; he had been juggling his mobile with one hand, and a particularly excitable batch of new Froakies with the other. There was foam _everywhere_.

“Ordinarily, they do not. It is a brief showing of Kalosian Pokémon paintings, to be hosted this weekend only in Couriway Town. It is possible that there may be observations useful for your research captured on canvas.” Lysandre had replied, tone clipped. “The artist involved is a personal favourite of mine. She is highly reclusive. I would have cancelled our proposed meeting entirely to attend the event, had I not thought such a thing rude. However, it occurred to me that perhaps it would make sense for you to practice speaking in a public place. Why not combine both your class and this event?”

“Oh? So your café doesn’t count as a public place?” He asked, amused. “And I’m intrigued by your calling this a ‘class’. Do I have to bring a notebook and pens? Will there be assignments? I regret to inform you, Lysandre, that I have really rather appalling handwriting. All of my supervisors will be ready and willing to commiserate with you on having to assess my work.”

The stony silence at the other end of the receiver was really rather unnerving. He had been almost grateful when one of the more exuberant Froakies had suddenly bitten his elbow, causing him to shriek and drop everything. His mobile rebounded off the floor with a dramatic somersault, case shattering. Four young Froakies with poor coordination and nothing to lose hopped off in different directions. Cursing under his breath, Sycamore abandoned the phone in a slushy mound of bubbles and rushed after them. It took several minutes to track them down. Apparently climbing the curtains had just been too tempting. It took a bit of coaxing, but he eventually managed to lure them down with a box of macarons and stash all four happily munching Froakies away in their new Pokéballs. Pausing for a moment to wring out the water gun from his shirt, he then headed back to his woebegone phone.

As he approached, the mobile trilled insistently. He picked up. “Sorry about that.”

“What on earth happened, Augustine?” Lysandre demanded at an unusually loud pitch. 

“What, were you worried, my friend? I do apologise.”

“Stop apologising. What happened?” The huffy tone didn’t seem likely to shift any time soon. Sycamore frowned.

“Were you worried? I do apologise, my friend!" _Oops_. "There is no need for concern. One of the starters bit me. Then it staged a dramatic escape with its compatriots up my new drapes. Their revolt has been oppressed and peace has returned to the lab. Long live the king.”

“Of course. It had to be something so ridiculous.” A snort crackled down the phone. It was almost a laugh. Sycamore felt a little rush of pride at the sound.

“Don’t worry, Lysandre. Not much truly dangerous happens around here,” he chuckled. “Where were we?”

“Couriway Town.” The other man snipped. “The gallery opens at 10am on Saturday. I intend to be there at the opening. If you would like to join me at some point during the day, then we can discuss your work and your speaking skills at that time.”

“10am on a Saturday? I should be able to do that… I’ll have to get up early though. Ugh.”

“If it is not convenient, then we can reschedule.” There was something in Lysandre’s tone that strongly suggested that rescheduling would be as well received as experimental dental work. Sycamore rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I can give up a sleep-in in the name of public speaking skills. Jeez, now there’s a sentence I never thought would leave my mouth. How are you getting there?”

There was a pause. "Do you have a vehicle, Sycamore?"

"Does a bicycle count?"

"...I will collect you at 9.30am."

"Really? That would be excellent." He grinned despite himself. "That'll save me cycling all the way there! It's been ages since I last did that... I don't think I'm that fit any more."

There was a huffing sound down the other end of the phone. "Ensure that you are ready on time. I do not want to be late." 

"Will do, not a problem. Thank you, Lysandre. You're very considerate."

“I will see you later, Professor Sycamore.” The phone went dead. Sycamore shook his head. That guy really needed to lighten up. A twinge on his arm made him look down and wince. There was a definite set of red teeth marks on his elbow. He could have sworn that Froakies weren’t meant to have teeth. With a sigh, he wandered off to find some antiseptic and a bandage. No point in having Lysandre tell him off for irresponsible wound treatment.

Predicably enough, Lysandre had arrived just outside Sycamore's lab substantially _before_ 9.30am, causing the professor to have to rush around madly to get all of the Pokémon fed and watered in time, and his morning scans set up to run without him. Lysandre stood back peacefully, looking only minutely irate as the minutes crept past the half-past mark. They finally set off only five minutes later than intended, but Sycamore still got the impression from the stony silence coming from the driver's seat that he was very much in the wrong.

He busied himself with looking out the window and humming quietly. Lysandre's bad mood could be Lysandre's business.

They arrived in Couriway Town slightly after 10am, which did make Sycamore feel slightly guilty.

"I will pay for the entry," he informed Lysandre forcefully. "After all, you did give me a lift here, and I did make you late."

The other man blinked, long red hair rustling as he shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Sycamore. You are here on my invitation, after all."

"Nonsense. You're visiting my home town, so I should be the one to pay." He gave the man his most compelling grin. "Come on! This is me being assertive and quietly compelling, just like your public-speaking reports said. You should be proud, my friend!"

Pride did not look high on Lysandre's list, but he parked the car without further comment and the two joined the queue into the pop-up gallery, which turned out to be a set of high white tents set up just in front of the waterfalls to the east of Couriway Town. Sycamore inhaled deeply. The smell of the fresh water and mossy rocks, the sound of the percussive rush of the waterfall striking the stones... now that he had missed. 

The queue slowly snaked towards the ticketing booth and Sycamore noticed that Lysandre was giving him an odd look. He turned to face him, and the other man immediately looked away, as though embarrassed to have been caught staring. 

"Is everything ok, Lysandre?" He asked. "You look a bit red. And I am not merely commenting on your hair."

Lysandre ignored the weak joke. "I am quite well, thank you. I was concerned for your well-being. You looked somewhat distracted. More so than usual."

"Very funny. I was just enjoying being up here again." He smiled gently. "See that bit of grass, just above the waterfall there? That used to be my favourite spot as a kid. I'd clamber up the rock face and sit up there with a book or a drawing pad. I was rubbish at drawing and even worse at climbing, but I got pretty good by the time my mum realised that's what I was doing and forbade me from ever coming up again and doing something so foolish." He chuckled at the memory. "It didn't stop me though!"

"Why am I not surprised..." Lysandre surveyed the rock face. "I am impressed that you didn't break your neck."

"Me too. I only broke my wrist and collar bone."

The flat look he received from the other man was truly impressive. "What? I was twelve! We all do stupid stuff when we're twelve."

"I wasn't aware that you had set yourself quite such a high standard, Sycamore. Congratulations." Mercifully they reached the ticket booth before Sycamore could snipe a response back. He settled for elbowing Lysandre out of the way and paying for the tickets, while the red-headed man rubbed his assaulted ribs and gave him a dangerous look. Sycamore shoved a ticket in his general direction and ignored the air of general malcontent. "Voilà! Come on, let's go see this artist of yours."

Lysandre subsided. For now. Sycamore allowed himself to be directed around the wide tent and stood in front of assorted paintings. Lysandre's face relaxed into open enjoyment. A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth and eyes, but didn't entirely take over. Sycamore took a quiet tally of which pictures seemed to inspire the most displays of reluctant delight. After all, birthdays and Christmases could always be combined into one in the case of a very expensive, entirely necessary gift. He took the artist's business card and shook her hand. The artist was a tiny waif of a woman, with bright purple hair and very quick speech. He assured her that he very much enjoyed looking at her work, and wandered off to a polite distance to let Lysandre speak with her in private. The two looked rather funny standing there, Lysandre almost bent double in order to speak to her in soft, urgent French. The artist had a slight blush to her face, which for some reason had made Sycamore feel rather uncomfortable. He shook himself mentally and walked away to look at some of the smaller oil paintings.

Perhaps if he had bought Lysandre more paintings he wouldn't have been so predisposed to violent, homicidal outbursts? 

He had purchased one on the sly the instant he got back to the lab, just to be sure that Lysandre himself wouldn't buy it and beat him to an easy gift. They hadn't been gone for too long. Just long enough for them to look around the gallery and then find some lunch at a place Sycamore knew from his youth was pretty substandard, but passably so. The look on Lysandre's face when he told him that the spaghetti had probably come out of a can was priceless. Once again, however, the other man had not been speaking to him on the drive home.

He had decided not to take it personally. And when Lysandre barely looked up when he arrived at Sycamore's lab, he had opted not to take _that_ personally either. He'd given him a broad smile, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and given him a cheery goodbye, and that had been it.

Perhaps he should have stayed. Maybe Lysandre had been harbouring issues even back then. 

There must have been something that he should have noticed.

At least now he had all of the time in the world to think about it. Or at least, what time there was left in the world.


	3. Chapter Three

Sycamore took a deep breath and attempted to calm his thoughts. His thoughts immediately turned to distressingly consider the fact that there really wasn’t very much air in this cupboard. Air holes be damned, it was cramped in here. No amount of convincing himself that the walls weren’t getting closer seemed to be working. 

He forced his thoughts back towards the small matter of the locked door and all of the air available just beyond it. He couldn’t panic. Not yet. Not like this. Panicking would cause hyperventilation, which would just make the cupboard even less… airy. His brain registered something a little like common sense and an awful lot like claustrophobia. He slowly sank to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. The cupboard was loud with heavy breathing. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

Could he ever forgive Lysandre for doing this, if they actually survived?

Probably. He seemed to have a habit of forgiving the man.

There was no sound now. Whatever was happening out there, it seemed that the machine had gone into a different stage. Maybe it had been stopped? Against all hope, he wondered whether Serena, one of the more gifted young trainers he had mentored over the years, had managed to get into the base.

Could she possibly have made it in time?

It was too much pressure to put on such a young person, especially when he himself had failed at negotiating with Lysandre. He knew it wasn’t fair to expect her to succeed where he had failed in such spectacular fashion. 

In fairness, it hadn’t been much of a negotiation. 

It was pretty much standard for most of their discussions though. The most recent one he could remember had been a slightly tipsy discussion of what would happen if Sycamore had tried on a Mega Ring and hadn’t been able to wield it. At least, that’s what he’d thought that the conversation had been about.

“I’m telling you, Lysandre… it would be the worst. The _worst_ thing. Not good. Definitely not good. Thing.” Most of his wine glass magically ended up on the floor of the café. He stared after it long enough that he nearly followed it. Lysandre had reached out, steadying his arm and shoving him back into the chair.

“And these chairs need arm rests!” He said for good measure, draining what was left of the glass. “And the floor needs to stop taking my wine.”

‘Slightly’ tipsy was perhaps an exaggeration.

As per usual, Lysandre had been a picture of perfect calm, entirely unmoved by Sycamore’s protestations and gesticulating at the world at large and its conspiracy to empty his wine glass. He sipped at his own glass, only the barest flush on his cheeks to suggest that the alcohol had gotten to him. “What on earth are you railing against this time, Augustine?”

“Mega Rings! Obviously. Can I have some more wine? The bottle seems to have moved.”

“Quite. I moved it. And no, that was not obvious.” Lysandre’s hands disappeared below the table, and Sycamore eyed their passage. The wine must have vanished along with them. Curse it all. “Why would it be such a dreadful thing to have a Mega Ring?”

“Not _have_ , Lysandre. To have and not _use_.”

“I hardly see that as a risk. If you had a ring, you would undoubtedly use it.” Lysandre took another sip of wine, and Sycamore dimly wondered whether he could barter for some. “What’s brought this on?”

“Today’s conference… there was another researcher there. Nice young thing. I’ll be getting him for my lab one day, don’t you worry. In a non lecherous way. That came out weird.” Sycamore shook his head. “Anyway. He was talking about activating Mega Rings and apparently not everyone can do it.” His face fell. “If I finally got one, and then couldn’t use it… that would be horrible.”

Lysandre sighed. “You’re rushing ahead of yourself, Augustine. You don’t need to worry about something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“But what if it _does_ happen?” He said mulishly. He set down the empty glass and leaned across the table. “What happens then? The world expert on Mega Evolution can’t even wield it himself? What a joke!”

Lysandre blinked, grey eyes widening slightly. “Ah.”

“Ah?” He couldn’t stop the smile. 

“That would be…difficult.”

“Lysandre, your eloquence! What happened to it?”

“It appears to have retreated in the face of your ridiculous suggestions,” the flaming-haired man retorted. He downed the rest of his wine glass. The bottle re-emerged and Sycamore crowed as his glass was restored to its former glory. 

“You’re helping me to drown my sorrows at my anticipated failure? My thanks, Lysandre.” He accepted the refill and sipped gratefully. 

“No, I am preventing you from further complaint about their unlikeliness.” Lysandre shook his head as though trying to clear a buzzing from his ears.

“It’s not a complaint,” he said softly. “It’s a valid concern. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t use it. I’ll find out one way or another. One day. I’ll know for sure.”

“Until then, it’s not something to worry about.” Lysandre, for reasons entirely unknown, reached out and gingerly touched Sycamore’s hand. He wasn’t even falling over this time. Sycamore blinked at him.

“Thanks, my friend.” He smiled broadly. “I appreciate your support!”

For some reason, Lysandre had retracted his hand as though bitten. His face had taken on a sickly complexion. Maybe he had had more wine than he’d thought. Sycamore couldn’t remember the rest of the conversation, but had a feeling that he’d gotten home without the aid of a taxi. Maybe. It was all a bit blurry.

Of course, nowadays that kind of worry was in the past. He had accepted a Mega Ring, tried it out, and confirmed that no, he could not use it. And the world had not ended.

Unless, of course, this was Lysandre’s idea of a sick joke.

But he was still rather surprised to learn, only half an hour ago, that Lysandre had a Mega Ring and had never told him. It had been on the man’s arm, along with some weird metal, buzzing things, when he’d entered the room.

Just how long had he been keeping it secret?

Had he had it this whole time?

Sycamore had come charging into the office, key card bypassing all of the doors as if by some miracle. The Team Flare headquarters were on high alert, but lab coats lend an impressive level of anonymity to a person, even if they aren’t red. Sycamore had never been to Lysandre’s office, but he knew vaguely where it should be, based on the other man’s past references to a coffee station and row of very expensive pot plants. The signs on the doors also got steadily more artsy as he approached the right room. The golden door plate was the icing on the cake.

Heart pounding against his chest, he had hammered on the door. No one answered.

“Lysandre! I know you’re in there!” 

The card had slipped from his fingers. Grabbing it up off the floor, he’d fumbled it, grabbed it again, and finally swiped it along the coder. A short trill was all the warning he’d got before the door slid open, revealing an exceptionally startled Lysandre, who appeared to be wearing a metal octopus.

Sycamore had frozen for a moment, mouth falling open slightly. “I… ah…?”

Lysandre had continued to stare at him, face paler than usual. The metal things about him had clicked and whirred, as if possessed by robotic bees. Sycamore found himself taking a step backwards. “What… what have you…?”

“You should not be here, Professor Sycamore.” The words had slid out reluctantly between gritted teeth. Sycamore could see a muscle clenching in the other man’s jaw. “It is too late to do anything.”

The imminent end of the world reinstated its prime position among Sycamore’s concerns, bypassing Lysandre’s distressing new backpack and what appeared to be a matching Mega Ring. He took a step into the office and tried not to clear his throat too visibly. 

“Why are you doing this, Lysandre?”

The door slid shut automatically behind him. He flinched as it passed, and watched a flinty look take hold over Lysandre’s face. There was a massive red visor on the table. The other man’s hand came to rest over it, as though petting a favourite Pokémon. 

“Well?” He asked again. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” He was privately impressed that his voice hadn’t cracked.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Lysandre seemed to be completely rooted to the spot, standing behind his offensively tasteful desk and staring blankly at his intended eyewear. Sycamore took another step in. He could feel himself starting to sweat.

“Has someone compelled you, my friend?” He asked softly. “Are you in some kind of trouble? What is going on? Let me help you…”

A hiss of breath. Lysandre blinked, but didn’t look up. His throat bobbed. Sycamore took another step closer. He was almost close enough to touch the other man’s arm. 

“You don’t have to do this!” He insisted, voice still quiet but firm. “I will help you. We’ll all help you. Just tell me what’s going on and we can stop the device. You don’t have to do this.”

Had Lysandre shut his eyes? Sycamore couldn’t quite see. The other man had turned almost imperceptivity away from him, shoulders blocking his line of sight. He once again found himself envious of the red-headed man’s extra few inches.

“You can talk to me, you know.” He reminded him softly. A shudder passed down Lysandre’s spine. He was within reach now. Sycamore hesitated. Those metal whirring things were wobbling around in a very alarming fashion. Could he touch him and not lose a finger?

“Would you at least look at me?”

Lysandre drew a long, shaky breath. He didn’t turn around. 

Sycamore went for it. He took another step forward and placed a hand on the other man’s elbow. “Lysandre?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” The words were slow and patient. Lysandre didn’t remove his hand.

“How could I not understand?” He demanded. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, how could you possibly have enough evidence for that kind of claim? My friend, that is a very grave assumption to make!”

Lysandre looked at him at last, eyes narrowing. Sycamore was lost for a moment. He was used to derisive comments and their accompanying, mocking looks. He could accept jests about his social skills and his inability to hold his drink, but he’d never been given a look quite like this one. It was just so _closed_. Lysandre, the man he thought he knew, wasn’t anywhere behind those eyes. He wanted to step away, but his own hand kept him anchored in position.

“Lysandre, please.” He tried again. His voice wasn’t shaking, and he was going to take that as a good sign. 

“Please what, Professor Sycamore?” Lysandre sounded unbearably tired. His eyes moved to the hand resting on his elbow and stayed there.

“I… don’t understand.” He clenched his jaw. “But I want to. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lysandre shook his head slowly. “The world is a corrupt, vile place. There is beauty, but only insofar that it is commercially valuable. The human race has made things intolerable. I will rectify this.”

“… this again?” Sycamore let go. “Seriously? You’re going to change the world _like this_?”

“It’s the only way.” Lysandre intoned. There was a terrifying blankness to his face. Sycamore took a step back. “Everything is too broken. Nothing is as it should be. Without death, there cannot be rebirth. Without rebirth, there is no chance for a better future. Team Flare will usher in this good, at the cost of necessary evil.”

“So… genocide? Killing everyone and everything is a ‘necessary’ evil? I’m afraid you’ve made a grave mistake, Lysandre. That’s not a ‘necessary’ evil. That’s just plain evil.” His heart was in his throat. His eyes were burning. “Stop this now. Please. You can’t do this.”

Lysandre shook his head slowly, but his eyes were firmly on Sycamore’s own. It was insane. His friend was in there, somewhere. Those grey eyes were just so unconscionably _sad_. “I can’t stop it. The preparations are done. The final steps are at hand. The world will be remade, and Team Flare will ensure that the same mistakes are not made.”

“You’re not like this.” Sycamore forced out the words. His tongue was heavy and his throat was closing. “This isn’t you. The man I know would never do something so _selfish_. Speak to me, Lysandre! What aren’t you telling me? You’re not making sense.”

Something flickered, but Lysandre said nothing. Sycamore inhaled deeply. His eyes were blurry. There was no way that he was going to let tears come from them. Not a chance. He wasn’t giving this imposter the satisfaction. 

“You’re an imbecile, Lysandre. You never spoke your mind to me, did you? And now you’ve gone and decided that it’s too late for anything to be fixed.” 

He turned and marched blindly for the exit. Regrettably, it was ill-equipped with traditional exit-like qualities and looked remarkably like the interior of a storage cupboard.

And the rest, as it was, was history. 

The initial shock and disorientation had worn off, and now, thanks to some irritable thoughts, so too was the claustrophobia. He was quietly relieved too by the fact that the world had not yet been destroyed. Or if it had, his cupboard had been spared. The thought of starving to death in a cupboard, surrounded by a ruined post-apocalyptic wasteland, was both sublime and ridiculous.

He really hoped that today wasn’t about to get any worse.

There were some strange noises coming from deep within the building. Pulses. Energy fields? Auras? The floor wasn’t shaking, so it couldn’t be the building coming down. It almost felt like a really intense Pokémon battle.

For the first time in his life, Sycamore hoped that Lysandre would lose. Serena had a Mega Ring too. They’d have a fair chance against one another, but the other trainer was very young. She’d be no match for Lysandre’s experience. Not to mention his apparent poker-like brilliance at hiding his true intentions.

 _Honestly_ , how could he have missed this?

There was something definitely off about the man he had just spoken to in Lysandre’s office. He was entirely too closed off. Sycamore knew that some people found the other man intimidating. His assistants had mentioned it on several occasions. But he never quite understood what they’d meant. Now, unfortunately, he had an idea of it.

Dexio had been awake one of the nights when Lysandre had dropped him back at the lab. The young man was still wearing his white suit, but was padding around with a cup of tea and an expression that suggested that he’d just woken up from an unexpectedly long nap at his desk.

“Professor?” The surprise in his voice was almost blotted out by the tea. “What are you doing up at this hour? There aren’t any overnights running, are there?”

“No, Dexio,” he’d waved him away. “No experiments tonight. I was just out with a friend.”

“Again?” Dexio was hovering about the landing, apparently undecided whether or not he was about to get chased away from questioning. “That’s the second time this week, sir. Is it serious?”

“What? No, nothing serious had happened! We just met up for some dinner.” He balled up his lab coat and shoved it down a nearby laundry chute. Tomorrow’s washing was tomorrow’s problem. “Honestly, Dexio, it doesn’t take a massive disaster to get me out of the lab.”

“No, I know that sir.” Dexio still looked a bit hesitant. He smiled broadly at the teenager.

“What’s on your mind? You must be worried about something, if you’re working this late when there’s nothing to be working on.”

Dexio laughed nervously. “What, me? Oh, nothing. Just… eh… Sina and I had a bit of a falling out. I didn’t notice her new haircut.”

“She has a new haircut? Thanks for the warning.” Sycamore chuckled. “No sense in both of us getting called out for thoughtlessness!”

“Yeah… very funny, professor. Either way, she got all offended and I ended up promising to do her paperwork to say sorry.” He sipped at his tea. “To be honest, I think she may have just been faking that she was that offended. I think she may have just gone off to the movies with her friends instead. But I didn’t want to take that chance.” He looked slightly annoyed.

Sycamore sighed. “You kids will figure it out. You work well as a team, but you need to pay attention to what each other is saying. It’ll make all the difference, I promise you. Don’t compromise your friendship over this little tiff.”

“What would you do in this situation, professor?”

He frowned. “Well… I can’t say that I’ve ever been in something similar. I guess I would just be honest and respect her feelings on the matter?”

Dexio nodded slowly. “I guess that’s good advice.”

“Is it? That’s a relief.” He beckoned towards the office. “Do you want to sit down for a bit? You look kind of frazzled.”

“That’s because I was sleeping on Sina’s papers,” Dexio admitted sheepishly. But he followed Sycamore through to the office nonetheless, pulling up a spare chair while Sycamore settled into his own. “This friend you were visiting, professor, is it the same one that you visit every week?”

“Of course.” Sycamore smiled gently. “I’m a busy man, Dexio. You know I don’t have time for much socialising.”

“But you still make time for each other every week?”

He nodded sagely. “We have done for nearly two years now. These things are important! If you make someone part of your life, you need to be considerate of their needs. Lysandre values time out from his work for conversation and food, and it is my pleasure to share in both.”

“Wait… _the_ Lysandre?”

“I’m pretty sure he is. It’s not a very common name.”

“Seriously, professor?” Dexio was giving him a look not unlike a Deerling in the headlights. Sycamore wondered if there was more caffeine in that tea than previously advertised.

“Yes, Dexio.” He said calmly. “Why is that such a concern?”

“He’s… well… kind of scary.” Dexio finished lamely. “And really famous. I didn’t know that you knew him, professor.”

“You’re saying I’m not famous enough to hang out with him?” He teased. He waved his hands pacifyingly at Dexio’s horrified protestations and reddening face. “Relax, relax! I’m just kidding. Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. He’s just a person like you or I. He’s not that scary.”

“I heard that he fired his last four assistants all because they didn’t knock the right number of times before entering his office.” Dexio muttered. “And his staff all have to use certain types of perfume otherwise they get suspended. And he measures the distance between the desks and the chairs after the cleaners have been.”

“Where exactly are you hearing these things? He’s not a madman!”

“Just around…” Dexio squirmed in his chair. “Maybe all that stuff isn’t true. I don’t know. I just know what I hear… but he still intimidates people! I had an interview with him, before I heard about your lab and came to work here, professor.”

“Really?” Sycamore leaned forward with interest. “What was it like?”

Dexio frowned. “Very… weird. He’s really intense. But I think he found me boring. He looked at me once when I came in and then just dismissed me after only a few minutes. I don’t think anyone got the job in the end. We were all sent out and told not to come back.”

“Well… he can be a bit short tempered. I think. I haven’t seen it happen yet. He’s always very patient with me! He drove me back to the lab tonight, after all, and I even told him that I was fine with walking. He does that a lot.” He trailed off and noticed that Dexio was giving him a very funny look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sir.” The funny look hadn’t shifted. Maybe the tea really was off. “I think I’ll go to bed now. Goodnight, professor.”

Strange child. At least he was in good company here at the lab.

Sycamore closed his eyes. He hoped that Dexio and Sina were safe. 

Now that he thought about it, everything seemed rather quiet. And the still hadn’t blown up. At least, to the best of his knowledge.

The pulsing noises had stopped. There were footsteps coming his way.

There was someone at the door.


	4. Chapter Four

The handle shuddered. There was a muffled curse and a clink. Someone had dropped the keys.

The only person who could have them, and know that he was in here. Lysandre.

Sycamore’s hands flew up and he grabbed the handle, forcing it to stay shut. The door juddered in his grip. The handle shuffled up and down. He held on grimly. 

“I don’t want to see you.”

The pulling stopped. He heard an exhalation of breath, then silence. Slowly, he let go of the door. Had Lysandre left the room?

He peered through the gap in the doorway. Flashes of red and black were where previously there had been only tasteful greys and white. It was hard to be sure, but it looked like Lysandre was leaning with his back against the door. The red and black went most of the way up the gap, so he must still be standing. 

Well, _that_ wasn’t going to help things much.

“Professor Sycamore, I need to speak with you.” The words were ragged. It sounded almost like he’d been running, or bawling, or feasting on the souls of the innocent. It was hard to tell the difference and Sycamore really wasn’t in the mood to try.

“You needed to speak with me _before_ you decided to destroy the world,” he snipped. _Oh, very smart, Augustine. Antagonise the homicidal maniac who has you locked in a cupboard. Really clever._ “What happened out there?”

“I made a mistake.”

“A mistake is forgetting to put enough change in your parking meter, Lysandre. A mistake is accidentally scratching another car with your keys. It is not a mistake to _threaten to set the other car on fire and dance amongst its ashes._ ” He paused. “Or rather, it _is_ a mistake, but it’s big enough to deserve an entirely different term. I’d start working on it if I were you.”

“You are correct.” The words were slow and sounded as though they cost the other man a lot of effort to say. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Not just me, Lysandre. Everyone who heard your little broadcast deserves an explanation.” He closed his eyes, kneading at his forehead. “This… this is completely bizarre, you know? You’re my friend. I thought you were, at least. I never imagined having this kind of conversation with you.”

“Nor I,” Lysandre admitted. “The cupboard was definitely not something that I imagined.”

A snort broke from Sycamore before he could hold it back. “This is insane! What on earth were you playing at, Lysandre? Did you really hate the world badly enough to destroy it?”

“There is much that is wrong with the world. Unfortunately, I reached a point in my mind where I could not see any hope, or any chance of improvement.”

The coldness of the thought made Sycamore pause. “What made you stop?”

“A young woman confronted me in the chamber,” Lysandre said softly. “Serena. She was young, impassioned, and entirely ruthless. The legendary Pokémon awoke to her presence immediately. The two combined forces against me. It was… thoroughly inspiring, and entirely devastating at the same time.” 

Lysandre gave a small, bitter laugh. “To be fair, it was a very even fight. But by the end I was done. In every sense of the word. I knew completely… utterly… that this had all been a mistake. From the very start, it was a foolish, awful idea.”

“If you wanted to battle one of my pupils that badly, you might have just asked.” Sycamore said. Sarcasm blossomed where his brain refused to tread. “There’s a near limitless supply just at my lab, I’ll have you know. I’m sure you know where it is by now?”

‘It wasn’t that straightforward, Professor Sycamore.” Lysandre growled. “I’ve met this student of yours before. I didn’t need to battle her on such terms then. Today was different. My eyes weren’t open when I last faced her. This time, I could see something. Her actions and your words… they had a terrible effect on me.”

“And that effect saved the world? I can’t say that I apologise for them in that case.” Sycamore thumped lightly on the door, letting the figure leaning against the other side absorb the shock. “You haven’t answered my question. Why did you stop? Why did you start in the first place? _When_ did it start? And why did you not come to speak to me about it?”

“It is not something you could have prevented, Professor Sycamore. Don’t blame yourself in the slightest.” Lysandre spat. Sycamore could feel the reverberations of his fist bumping against the doorframe. “This was my decision, and mine alone. I would not have had you involved, even for a second.”

“But you’d have had me die along with everyone else?” The words slipped out along with a tone Sycamore didn’t realise he could express. He’d never said anything with quite so much hurt in it before. The pain in his chest was back and he couldn’t give a name to it. It almost felt like someone had tried to gouge out his innards with a spoon. His head felt like it was on fire, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a name to just what made the sense of betrayal so potent. “You would have killed everyone? Every Pokémon, every human being, every living creature on that planet. Your favourite artist, our friends, Diantha, the children I mentor... everyone? And you wouldn’t even have come to say goodbye to me before then?”

“Nothing that I did was forgivable.” Lysandre sounded hollow. “I don’t expect, nor do I deserve forgiveness of any kind.”

“And yet you came back up here to talk to me? Forget forgivable, Lysandre. Nothing that you’ve done makes any sense! I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“Nor do I.”

“Oh come on, Lysandre!” He thumped the door again. “A plan like this isn’t a spur-of-the-moment tantrum or sudden change of heart. This would have taken months of planning. Years even. Tell me the truth: were you planning this back when I first met you, back at that conference on fairy types?”

“Not in as much detail, but the initial research was underway. Yes.”

Sycamore slumped back against the floor. “You’re serious?”

“Regrettably so.”

It felt like he’d just swallowed a lump of ice. “And all these discussions with me, what were they for? Background research? Inspire the flaky scientist to get on with his relevant discoveries? Another cog in the machine, maybe?” A laugh that sounded like it came from a different person shook itself from his belly. “Well! I guess it all makes sense now. I did wonder why you always found time to meet up with me, even when you seemed so busy.”

“Not in the slightest.” Lysandre’s voice was sharp, even through the door. “No. Not for an instant. I would never have manipulated you in such a fashion.”

“Then why bother befriending me?” He sat up again, anger slowly burning in the pit of his stomach. ”Why bother making time for our drinks, our dinners, and all those little meetings? You didn’t need to do any of that if you were just planning on destroying everything. Was it a cover story? Attempt a guise of normal behaviour so that no one looks too closely at what you’re up to? You scared people, Lysandre, and I told them off for judging you.” A wry chuckle slipped out. “Maybe I should have been listening. I can’t believe that you tricked me so well!”

“You told them off…?” There was confusion in the other man’s voice, but Sycamore had neither the patience nor the interest in dealing with it.

“So, you had the doomsday device and the Pokémon needed to power it for… what… how long? The whole time you’ve known me? And you didn’t once think to mention, ‘Oh, Augustine, I’ve been having some bad thoughts about destroying the world recently. Any advice?’ even once?” His voice was ranging towards the definition of ‘shrill’, but he was willing to ignore it this once. There was only one person to witness it, and he was behind a cupboard door and an attempted mass-murderer, so his opinions on the matter were moot.

“It’s not that simple! You… I’d… I’d never… It is not solely a doomsday device,” Lysandre snapped. “It can do far, far more than that. I sought it in order to attain immortality, not destroy everyone. It was never my intention to hurt people. I wanted it for a much purer purpose. The machine can restore the dead. It can grant eternal life. It’s a miracle machine in the strictest sense of the word.”

A new silence took over.

“That’s… not much better, Lysandre.”

“And why not?” Lysandre’s voice slipped into a lower timbre. “It sounded like the perfect solution to the world’s problems: if we are all immortal, then we need not rely on crude resources to survive. We can all unite to solve the world’s problems, rather than passing them off as issues for the next generation to solve, and so forth. We can dedicate ourselves wholeheartedly to the pursuit of our research, the arts, the sciences… everything that is beautiful in the world, without resorting to crude ugliness. Everyone will attain a perfect enlightenment. A perfect understanding of their place in the world and their duty to it.”

Sycamore shook his head in the dark. “That’s not how all people work, Lysandre. It’s not your choice to make for them either. That’s pretty much a textbook god complex right there.”

“I didn’t say that _everyone_ needed to be immortal. Not immediately. But you and I… maybe we could make a difference.”

“Me?” 

“Yes…” Lysandre sounded even more muffled. Sadness or embarrassment? Sycamore briefly wished that he could see the other man’s face. “The more I spoke with you, the more convinced I became that you would be a blessing on the world. Your compassion and your motivation are both powerful. You see things clearly, but at the same time do not tie yourself down with trivia.”

“… you’re speaking to the person who got himself locked in a broom closet, Lysandre.”

“I did not consider navigational skills to be a prerequisite for immortality.”

“Nor, apparently, ‘willingness’! This plan of yours… it’s a great concept, but it would never work.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Lysandre muttered. “I have destroyed the machine. Immortality or the end of the world, or resurrection of the dead… all three are impossible now.” He sighed. “For the record, I would never have offered you immortality if I were not sure that you would accept it. Observe that I never offered it. I would not disrespect you in such a way.”

“Perhaps you do know me a little after all,” Sycamore mused. His stomach unclenched slightly, but his head was still pounding. Today was proving entirely too confusing. “Seriously, Lysandre… eternal life? You and I? That’s quite a thought.”

“It was one of many. A dream gone too far. Now, regrettably, I suspect that destructive failure shall be my only legacy.” A dry laugh. 

Sycamore rocked back onto his heels. His legs were seizing uncomfortably. He’d lost count of just how long he’d been sitting like that, but his body was keen to inform him that it had been a very bad decision. “I think that you and I need to have a little discussion about boundaries and healthy decision making skills. Forget public speaking – this is what we really should have been covering.”

“You may be correct.”

“There’s no ‘may’ about it, Lysandre.” Sycamore coughed. His throat was burning. “Everything that happened today could have been avoided, plain and simple, if you had just come to me and told me exactly what was on your mind. I mean, I know I’m not always the most coordinated person, but I’ve been reliable, haven’t I? Have I ever, _ever_ let you down when you’ve needed something?”

There was a reluctant hiss from the other man. “You… have not.”

“And why would you refuse to talk to me now, when all of your thoughts seem to be so grim? Isn’t that what you need me for? Isn’t that why we all turn to the people we care about? To help them and be helped in return?”

He could hear the rustling of Lysandre’s jacket on the other side. The other man must be fidgeting. Probably a little too motivational? He tried again. “I care about you a lot, Lysandre. More than you know, apparently.”

A strange noise that he couldn’t quite place came from the other room. He cocked his head against the door. “So, what are you going to do now?”

“Turn myself over to the authorities.” Lysandre said quietly. “There is nothing for me here. I have ruined everything that I treasured, and that, I fear, includes the relationship that we had.”

“What’s with the ‘had’? As far as I can tell, we’re still talking. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a friend who’s tried to kill me before, but I suppose there’s a first for everything.” Sycamore shuffled to his feet. “But then again, for some weird reason, I find myself kind of forgiving you for it. I mean, you didn’t have to stop the machine, but you did. And instead of legging it, you came back up here to let me out. I have to say, underneath it all, you’re not a complete psychopath.”

There was a hiss of released breath. “Professor Sycamore, I would like to apologise to you properly before I leave. I have wronged you in far more ways than I had ever feared possible. But if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to apologise face-to-face. If you could stomach opening this door, I would appreciate it, but certainly not deserve it.”

Sycamore fought the urge to roll his eyes. Melodramatic much? “Augustine.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Augustine. It’s about time that you used it properly, and not just accidentally, like you seem to. We need to make a few changes, you and I.” 

“If… if you prefer.” 

The door opened slowly, almost apologetically. Sycamore staggered, knees sore from kneeling on the concrete. He squinted into the artificial light. There was a very familiar silhouette standing there.

The metal whirring things were gone. They’d been stripped off and dumped onto the floor. The visor was nowhere to be seen. Lysandre, looking thoroughly lost and miserable, was standing right in front of him.

The first urge that crossed Professor Augustine Sycamore’s mind was to punch him in the face.

The second urge was to throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders and try not to weep openly.

Lysandre’s eyes widened further than he’d ever seen before. He ignored the other man’s startled spluttering. He wrapped both arms firmly around his neck and pulled himself flush against the other man’s body. He smelt like smoke and stress. His hair was prickly and slightly out of order. Sycamore filed this information for future teasing. 

In the meantime, he focused on just being relieved.

The other man made a strange noise, and that was when Sycamore noticed that his grip was perhaps slightly too tight. He let go and took a small step back. Lysandre watched him go with a look of bewilderment, rubbing at his throat.

“Oh… sorry, my friend. I didn’t mean that… although, you did just try to kill me. Didn’t you? So I guess we’re even… sorry about that. Not my intention. Where are my Pokémon? Did you leave them in the vault? I thought I heard you open it before you left.”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” Lysandre turned away and unlocked the vault, removing several Pokéballs from inside. “They are quite unharmed.” He said stiffly.

“Generally no, it’s my job not to.” Sycamore gave him a shaky smile and accepted his team. Their weight at his side was no small comfort. “And given all that just happened, it’s probably for the best.”

“I should go. I daresay that the police are waiting.” Lysandre wasn’t looking at him. He was staring off at some spot on the wall. It was their last discussion all over again. Sycamore frowned.

“You don’t have to leave just yet. I want to clarify something with you. But first, could I get a drink? I think I’ve earned one.”

Lysandre gave him an incredulous look. “Augustine, this really cannot wait. I must go. I am not fit to be around decent company any more.”

“Really? You threatened to destroy the world but then didn’t go through with it. Who’s to say this whole thing wasn’t just a hoax or a prank that slipped through the system? Think about it. The machine is destroyed, no one actually got hurt… and you released a legendary Pokémon back into the world. While also reminding everyone not to rely too much on technology. All in all, you stand a pretty good chance of not getting hit with too many charges.”

Lysandre was giving him a confounded look. Sycamore shrugged by way of reply.

“… you are attempting to excuse my actions?”

“What? No! I’m helping you get out of the worst of their penalties.” Sycamore gave him a thin smile. “Punishment should fit the crime, and quite frankly, I’m not so sure that even _you_ knew what you were trying to achieve.”

“There is no downplaying what happened here today, Augustine,” Lysandre said sternly. His arms were folded but Sycamore could see a slight tremor in his hands. The other man was clearly not letting on just how much everything had affected him. “I don’t need your pity. I don’t deserve your pity.”

‘You don’t get to decide how and when I dole out pity, Lysandre.” He said firmly. “You owe me an explanation. No one else has actually gotten hurt today. You gave us all a good fright, but me most of all, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you owe me this much before you let yourself get swallowed up by the judicial system. Just, for once, would you be honest with me?”

That strange, fixed look came over Lysandre’s face again and he nodded stiffly. 

“Good. Now, some water would be excellent, if possible?” 

Lysandre moved toward a small covered bar to the side of the room. It was tastefully done out in walnut wood and tan leather. He poured out two glasses of water and gingerly offered one to Sycamore. He accepted it gratefully, downing most of the glass in only a few mouthfuls. Lysandre watched him out the corner of his eye and wordlessly motioned with the jug for a refill. Sycamore nodded, and the second glass went the way of the first.

“Thank you… it was not pleasant in there, I can assure you.”

“I regret that immensely.”

“Sit down, Lysandre. You look like you’re about to bolt.”

The pale man had the decency to glare at him, almost a shadow of his old self, but took a seat. Sycamore pulled up the spare office chair and leaned forward inquisitorially.

“Right, let’s get one thing clear: this never happens again, ok?”

Lysandre nodded, one eyebrow raised. “That will not be a problem.”

“Good.” He rapped his hands on the desk. “Now, why didn’t you come and speak to me when you started… thinking homicidal thoughts?”

Lysandre shuffled in his chair, refusing to look him in the eye. Now it was Sycamore’s turn to go pale.

“Oh good lord… it was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Lysandre’s chin snapped up in shock. “Absolutely not!”

“Really? Then why didn’t you come and speak to me? Let me think, when did we last meet up… it was more than two weeks ago… Why did you cancel our last meeting? Is that when it happened?”

There was a grinding sound and Sycamore had a funny feeling that it was coming from Lysandre’s teeth. “The two are not entirely unrelated. I realised something shortly after our last meeting and that was when I… lost control of my impulses.”

“And what was that?” Sycamore wracked his brains. “I’m trying to remember what happened… we were at your café and I ordered the pain au chocolat, but forgot to get hot chocolate with it instead of café au lait… and you made the poor girl make it again and she was giving me the evilest glare the whole time over your shoulder.”

“That… would explain your distractible appearance on the day.” Lysandre murmured. “Do you recall our topic for discussion?”

“I barely remember what I said to Sina when I asked her to take over the lab for the day… but I think it was something to do with the Pokémon league. The new champion, right? It was something to do with her appointment party…”

“Diantha.” Lysandre’s eyes had narrowed. “You were very… forthright in your praise of her.”

“So were you,” Sycamore reminded him. “A work of art on screen and in the battle arena… I’m pretty sure that’s how you described her, right? And anyway, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Less than nothing,” Lysandre snarled. “That was not the topic I was referring to!”

“It wasn’t?” Sycamore mused. “You seemed pretty irate about something back then, I can remember that much… I’m not too sure what it was about though. You just seemed to get a bit sulky when I mentioned meeting up with Diantha after her league appointment.”

“Diantha is not the issue,” Lysandre repeated firmly. “The opulent party that was thrown for her when she became champion… that was the issue.”

“Oh, that? Yeah, I was there! It was incredible. Champagne, gold leaf everything, amazing food… it was a real spectacle.”

“All of the money for that party came out of the research budget.” Lysandre said darkly. “Opulence at the expense of living costs. I remember that party well. It was beauty at great cost to your own work, Augustine, but all you could offer was praise for the academy that had cut your purse strings. I remember you saying that you had not been able to afford to heat your lab for that same month. Did you not wonder why they suddenly slashed your budget?”

Sycamore blinked. “… excuse me?”

“I looked into it.” Lysandre muttered. “When you complained about the heating and the funding cut. I had some of my accountants look into what had happened. Your budget was slashed to help fund some ridiculous, flouncy party that need never have happened.”

“Well… that wasn’t exactly Diantha’s fault now, was it? It’s not like she had anything to do with it! She’s a lovely person, a truly beautiful spirit. She’d never have anything to do with such underhanded moves! If the Pokémon League wants to remove its donations to the lab for whatever reason, then that’s their business. And hey, maybe not having the heating on for the month helped me shiver off a few pounds. It could be worse.”

It looked like there was a vein pulsing on Lysandre’s forehead. Sycamore stared at it curiously. “Why does it bother you so much, Lysandre?” He wondered out loud. “It’s not a big deal. Why would that upset you?”

“It’s perfectly logical that it would upset me!” The other man snapped. “You are constantly exploited by the world, but you never see it for what it is!”

“That wasn’t Diantha’s fault!” Sycamore repeated. “She had nothing to do with that.”

“Of course it’s not her fault.” The annoyance on Lysandre’s face hadn’t left. His cheeks were flushed and he kept breaking eye contact. Something eerily like comprehension began to dawn on Sycamore.

“Then why do you keep getting angry every time I mention her name?”

“It’s not her fault,” the taller man ground out. “I am not angered by anything.”

“You’re… jealous?”

Stony silence. The look Lysandre was giving him would be a perfect portrait for ‘fury’ in the dictionary. But Sycamore could see something else behind those eyes and wasn’t going to let go.

“You _are_! Why on earth would you be jealous of Diantha? She’s just a friend, Lysandre. A good friend.”

“Just as I am.” Lysandre muttered. “Yet another friend.”

“Do you object to the term?”

“Not… strictly.” Lysandre was looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Sycamore blinked. 

Oh. 

Suddenly things were starting to make a bit more sense.

In the most unbelievable sense of the word.

“Lysandre, what do you mean by ‘not strictly’?”

Grey eyes closed tightly and it looked like the other man was holding his breath. Sycamore stared at him curiously. “Do you object to the terminology that much?”

No answer. He began to seriously wonder about the other man’s oxygen supply.

“If it interests you at all, then I should probably admit that I use the term ‘friend’ in the most generous sense of the word.”

The furrows on Lysandre’s forehead deepened, his hand rising to massage his temples in silence. Sycamore tried again.

“I mean… I don’t know what else to call you without scaring you off entirely. Saying you’re the most important person in my life has quite a heavy ring to it, particularly if you’re not sure that the other person even feels the same way, or even goes that way. You understand my qualms, don’t you?”

Ah, there was a new look on Lysandre’s face now. It closely resembled someone who had just been electrocuted. His eyes were open and his mouth had slackened. Murder did not appear to be aforethought. 

It had to be an improvement.


	5. Chapter Five

Lysandre’s look of astonishment shifted to suspicion. He reached out and poured himself a glass of water, courteously topping up Sycamore's own, despite his obvious discomfort. Taking a long draught, he eyed Sycamore carefully. Augustine allowed it. After all, every moment he paused to think was yet another moment free of homicidal thoughts.

There had been more than enough of those today to last an entire lifetime. Not to mention, it was really rather entertaining to have Lysandre on the back-foot for once. That being said, he was really rather surprised at the other man. Had he really not realised just how important their relationship was to him?

“Forgive me, Augustine, but I have some concerns about your terminology,” Lysandre slowly enunciated. His grey eyes were particularly intense. Sycamore met them fearlessly, but quietly nursed his own discomfort. He wasn't going to let it show. Not this time. 

“Oh? What’s wrong with it? I thought I was pretty damn eloquent just then.” He grinned, sipping at his glass. “What seems to be the problem?”

Lysandre shook his head. “You implied that there was a level to your feelings for me that exceeds what we currently demonstrate. Would that be accurate?”

Oh how fun it was to dance around in increasingly wordy circles! Sycamore’s grin widened. “Did I? That does sound like something I would do...”

“Intentionally?” Lysandre ground out. His fingers were tightening around the glass. Sycamore watched them thoughtfully.

“I do many things intentionally, Lysandre. When conversing with you, I especially try to keep things purposeful. You do so hate excess and ambiguity, after all...” He trailed off again, taking a slow sip of water. "What exactly do you find difficult about my terminology?"

Ok, maybe he was pushing it a little too far now.

Lysandre leaned forward in his chair. His face was pale. Was it with rage or nerves? Was Sycamore going to live long enough to find out?

“Augustine, kindly cut to the chase, would you?” His voice lowered, thick red hair drooping. “Please.”

Now that was a rare thing all in itself. His mind went slightly blank. In all his years, Sycamore couldn’t remember a more confusing day.

“Well, let me see…” He shook his glass, agitating the water in circles. He hoped that it made him look much calmer than he felt. He also hoped that the water wouldn't conspire with physics to slop all over his shirt. “It’s a bit of a long story. I’m really rather surprised that we’re only having this conversation now. After all, I’ve been looking for a sign that you were interested in me for years now. You never responded to my flirting, so I decided to keep my thoughts to myself. Is friendship such a terrible supplementary offer?”

“You flirt with everyone!” Lysandre snarled. “It’s as natural for you as breathing!”

Sycamore flinched. “I beg your pardon?”

Lysandre subsided slightly, cheeks pink. “You are extremely friendly, Augustine,” he said more quietly. His eyebrows were still pinched with tension. “It shows. Everyone who meets you is entranced. It is hard to tell whether or not you intend for it to happen, or if it’s just a side-effect. You cannot tell me that you haven't noticed.”

“Is being friendly really that alien to you?” Sycamore scoffed. “I flirt when I intend to flirt, and I try to be a decent person the rest of the time. Nothing more, nothing less. What's wrong with that? And why should you get upset over when or with whom I flirt? It’s a free country, and I am unattached. There’s no shame in being pleasant company.” He certainly wasn’t going to mention that he had had no idea that that was the case. Nor was he going to mention that he’d never particularly noticed that much exterior attention. Was Lysandre telling the truth? It all sounded a bit far-fetched. "For the record, are you sure that you aren't mistaking glazed looks of boredom at my constant going on about Mega Evolution for adoration? That sounds far more likely to me."

"I am adamant." Lysandre snarled. "The attention you draw is a constant thorn in my side." 

He didn’t realise that he was digging his fingers into his glass quite so hard until it made a sudden, ominous creak. A thick crack spread from the lip to the base, then it shattered. He dropped it in shock. Water went all over Lysandre’s desk, beading on the polished surface. The rest travelled most of the way up Sycamore's shirt. So much for physics being on his side for once.

Lysandre stood in a hurry, eyes full of concern. “Watch the glass!”

“I’m not a child, Lysandre,” Sycamore grumbled. He shook out his hand carefully, detaching a stray shard from his palm. There wasn’t any blood, but there was still an unpleasant tingle where it had stuck. “Although apparently I do not know my own strength sometimes. Just as you do not know how rude you are being, it would seem. What a strange day this is!”

“It was wrong of me to insult you,” Lysandre said quietly. One hand was out-reached slightly, as if wanting to help. The mess on his desk seemed to be completely past his attention. "I forgot myself." 

“I’m not insulted, Lysandre. It’s not an insult to call someone a flirt. It’s wrong to think of it as a bad thing,” he said firmly. There was a slight sting where the glass had connected, but nothing else. He peered at his palm critically, then turned back to the other man. “And why does it concern you?”

“It is not my concern.”

“Liar. That's not what you said a few moments ago.” He dabbed at his soaked shirtfront absentmindedly. “All that 'thorn in my side' business. Come on, we’re beyond this. Tell me the truth.”

Lysandre looked for a moment like he was considering handing himself over to the police. His eyes roved over the door, then slowly drew back towards the young professor. His words were slow and reluctant. “You have always been the centre of attention at gatherings. Even back at the first conference when we met, you drew the eyes of all around you. Perhaps it was professional curiosity. I admit, that was what I thought at first, but then I realised it was more than that. You draw people in, and you keep them close by merit of your gentle nature and easy humour. In addition…” Lysandre’s mouth tightened. “There are those who appear to find you attractive.”

Sycamore’s mouth quirked. “Was that so hard to say?"

Lysandre glowered at him. "That is not the kind of thing that a friend is permitted to say."

"On what planet? You're more than welcome to flatter me outrageously! It's one of the best things about having friends," he grinned broadly. "Don't be silly, Lysandre."

Lysandre folded his arms irritably. The glare on his face was impressively potent. "You are not listening to me, Augustine. I am constantly concerned for your welfare because of your inability to read a situation and respond appropriately to threats. I have yet to attend a single event when I am not concerned for your immediate safety. Your... excessive friendliness only seems to get you into trouble." 

Sycamore couldn't hold back a snort. "We sometimes attend battling or scientific functions, Lysandre, not diplomatic stand-offs! We're researchers, not spies! There's nothing suss or dangerous about the people we meet with at those events. I think you're just being paranoid." He paused. A few memories were stirring, and he laughed aloud incredulously. "You're not still upset about what happened at Diantha's party, are you? That hardly counted as dangerous!"

“That woman nearly abducted you, Augustine! She drugged your wine and had her butler on standby to carry you off.” Lysandre’s expression was thunderous. "You have absolutely no awareness of the situations that build up around you." 

“It wasn’t that bad! Honestly Lysandre, she dropped her anti-allergy medicine into the glass and I picked it up from the table by accident. There was nothing malicious at all about it! You didn’t have to smash the glass and scream at the poor woman for half an hour. You’re lucky we didn’t both get thrown out. Plus I got champagne all over my suit.”

Lysandre jerked to his feet, making the desk shudder. "And if it hadn't been an accident? What then?"

"Then you would have done me a favour," Sycamore conceded. "But it would have been pretty hard for them to abduct me from the middle of a ballroom, wouldn't it?"

“Your complete disregard for your own well-being is a constant concern to me,” Lysandre hissed. He stalked around the desk, towering over Sycamore. The professor tightened his grip on the arms of his chair, craning his head to meet Lysandre's eyes with a calmness he really did not feel. He was struck again by just how tall the other man really was. “If it had not been a simple accident, then what?”

“Then I would have been eternally in your debt,” Sycamore conceded. “Again. In fact, I recall you saving me from a particularly chatty drunk that night too. That truly was a bad night for me, now that I think about it! At least the dancing was good.”

Lysandre’s upper lip curled. “I want no part in a debt.” He seemed unwilling to talk about the dancing comment at all. Sycamore was quietly amused by that. He seemed to recall the other man standing at the sidelines and pointedly starting conversations with other people, looking everywhere but at his friend. He and Diantha had cut an excellent waltz across the floor. She had been dressed in a couture gown coloured and beaded like a Gyarados's scales. It had been a spectacular display. Thankfully you couldn't see the dark patches on his own suit left by the champagne at that point, otherwise he was sure that the papers would have had a great time with those photos.

“But you do want something, don’t you?” Sycamore pushed, gently. "I appreciate your concern for me, Lysandre. Don't ever think otherwise. But don't you think you're overreacting? Don't you think that this may be an issue you need to address?"

Lysandre's eyes flickered. “I want you to stop avoiding my questions! I will deal with whatever issues you think I have as and when you stop evading your own!”

A stony silence lapsed over the room. Sirens resounded faintly outside. The police couldn’t be far now. In only a matter of minutes, they’d soon be surrounded and Lysandre would most likely be handcuffed and frogmarched away to prison. The thought of the elegant man languishing in a cold cell made Sycamore’s stomach flop over. The thought of him wearing anything other than his immaculate suit was almost physically painful.

Maybe they really were as ridiculous as each other.

“I’m sorry for making you worry all the time,” he said softly. He reached out and gently placed his hand over the other man’s clenched fist. It was an awkward angle, but he went with it. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been very clear about things. Let me try and explain myself.”

He took a deep breath. “I suppose I never really noticed when my feelings for you wandered into new territory. It was a natural progression, I guess? After all, we’ve spent so much time together, and by Arceus, we just get along so well! You’re an incredible person, Lysandre, and even more so, you take such care of those around you, even though they don’t seem to notice it half the time. Dexio called you frightening, but I know that your company has the best working conditions out there. I know that you frequently bump extra money into your workers’ salaries when they need it most. I’ve spoken to your wait-staff at the café: they adore you, but they want to respect your indomitable image and not let anyone think you weak. I get the impression you've had a difficult time in your life, getting to where you are now, but you don't let it get to you. You don't let anyone get to you. I thought that maybe you wanted me to do the same thing. I mean – we have different people skills, as you’ve pointed out. People flock to me because I’m friendly and I drink like a fish. People stay with you because you’re serious and dedicated, a bit scary but also supportive. Like a space heater.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me, Augustine,” Lysandre muttered hoarsely.

“Don’t say such a thing; I’m sure I’ll say worse in the future.” He offered him a sunny smile. “Well, that’s more or less it! I respect you too much to damage the reputation that you’ve made. And as for the extra stuff, well, that’s my problem, isn’t it? I am very aware of my own preferences. I like everyone. But you don’t talk about your preferences, so as far as I knew, they’re none of my business. I would never make them my business unless I were 100% sure that you wanted to work together on them. I never asked you about them because, well, I'm not that good at reading a situation, as you've pointed out. I guess we're both at fault in this one.”

A vein on Lysandre’s forehead seemed to be pulsing. Was it a pun too far? Sycamore opened his mouth to apologise, but ended up stifling a yelp instead. 

Massive hands fisted into his hair. Sycamore was pulled upwards. Lysandre’s lips crushed down onto his own. The immediate rush of heat was overwhelming. The kiss was biting, possessive, and extremely unrefined. Had he not been otherwise preoccupied, Sycamore would have laughed. Lysandre did not appear to be well versed in these things at all. Less humorously, Sycamore’s face was in danger of being savaged at this rate.

Gently he pushed against the other man’s shoulders, and Lysandre let go as if burned. Sycamore staggered, almost falling back into the seat. The other man’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were widening with horror.

“I… forgive me...”

“For what?” Asked Sycamore mildly, rubbing at his mauled lips. “Oh. Yeah, that one’s bleeding. Oops.” He dabbed at the corner curiously. “Never mind, it’s stopping now. No harm done.”

Lysandre was giving him a completely mystified look. Sycamore blinked at him. “Whatever is the matter this time, Lysandre? You look like someone just paralysed you.”

“I…” 

“If you say ‘forgive me’ or ‘I’m sorry’, one more time, I will really have to punch you because you’re clearly delirious.” Sycamore sighed. He dropped both hands onto Lysandre’s shoulders. “I suggest that you relax and pay attention. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Lysandre nodded silently, and Sycamore leaned in.

The kiss was quieter this time. His lips worked softly against Lysandre’s, gentle and quick. His hands moved to tangle in the other man’s impressive hair. It was softer than he had expected, having only been spiked with the tips previously. He could smell sweat and smoke, but also the expensive tint of Lysandre’s shampoo. The skin beneath Lysandre's hair was soft. He buried his hands in as deeply as they could go. The other man made a growling sound deep in the back of his throat, pushing forward and wrapping his arms around Sycamore’s torso. He broke the kiss and leaned in, touching his forehead against Lysandre’s own.

“Is this less ambiguous, my dear friend?” He cursed at how out of breath he sounded. 

“Don’t call me that,” Lysandre grumbled. “Not again. Not ever again.”

Sycamore chuckled. “If you insist! Lysandre, we truly must do something about this crippling self-doubt of yours.”

The taller man glared at him and bore down on his lips with decidedly more finesse this time. Sycamore moved easily with him, hands trailing to explore the sharp lines of Lysandre’s intricately shaved jawline. His hands opened, cradling the other man’s face between his fingers. His mouth parted, and tongue pushed against Lysandre’s lips. With a hiss of surprise, the other man responded in kind. 

It was a singularly amazing and peculiar feeling, to be kissing his friend and would-be megalomaniac at last. Or rather, not his friend. That word wasn’t allowed any more. His… what, exactly?

Tongues entwined, Sycamore patiently guided Lysandre through the moves of the kiss. For once, the other man seemed entirely at peace with being taught, rather than being the teacher. He deepened the contact, flicking against the roof of Lysandre’s mouth and the neat lines of his teeth. It was phenomenally personal. Sycamore’s head was spinning. Lysandre tasted of slightly bitter tea, and was starting to match him move for move. Sycamore’s hands trailed down, clamping around Lysandre’s torso, and drawing him closer. Lysandre’s grip tightened. He broke the kiss roughly, breath loud at Sycamore’s ear.

"I cannot believe this, Augustine. I truly cannot."

"You're telling me!" He bit back the laugh and kissed the man's ear. "And you called me impossible... I think you're just as bad, Lysandre."

"I don't deserve this, not after all that's taken place." Warm breath was tickling against his throat. Sycamore groaned, leaning into the contact.

"Don't be an ass, Lysandre. It's not the kind of decision you can make on your own. We can discuss the semantics later." He nipped gently at the sliver of skin exposed between Lysandre's jawline and high collar, relishing the sound that ripped from the man as he did so. "How much time have we wasted?" 

“I cannot believe how obtuse you’ve been,” Lysandre muttered. Each word reverberated through Sycamore's chest. He knotted his arms tightly about Lysandre's broad torso. Every heartbeat and intake of breath was incredibly, intensely close. He let his eyes fall shut. It all felt perfect. 

“And I can’t believe that you’re going to get arrested now that we’ve finally reached an understanding,” he replied, voice hollow.

“Have we?” Lysandre pulled back fractionally, looking down at Sycamore. His eyes were lively with humour. “I can’t say that I recall much speaking, or at least, not much _useful_ speaking on your behalf.”

“Very funny.” Sycamore touched his lips to Lysandre’s again. “Would you prefer words, my dear?”

Lysandre’s laugh rolled right through him. His arms tightened and Sycamore almost couldn’t breathe for the pressure. “That is a distinct improvement on ‘friend’, Augustine.”

“I’m glad,” Sycamore wheezed. “If you would be so kind?”

Lysandre’s arms loosened fractionally. His gaze was slowly becoming serious again. “I can hear people approaching,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid that we may have to continue this conversation later.”

“Substantially later,” Sycamore supplied. His brain was racing at a million miles a minute. “Lysandre, you need to cooperate as much as you can. Get a good lawyer. You can make it out of this ok. You can get the help you need, but it’s not going to come from prison. You need therapy, of course, but you need to do more than that. I will speak on your behalf. I’ll do anything. But I think we need to keep quiet about – this – between us, for now.”

The look he was receiving was entirely unimpressed, but mercifully, Lysandre hadn’t let go. It was a little hurtful to be told that you need psychological counselling after you’re also made one of the more heartfelt moves in your life, but Sycamore hoped that he would see the sense in it. 

“Yes,” Lysandre murmured. “They may think you were in collusion with me.”

“What?” Sycamore hadn’t even thought of that.

“It makes sense. You’re in my office and unharmed, therefore it would make sense for them to think that you were in on this the whole time. Your own associates would condemn you, should they be questioned.”

“Condemn me? What on earth do you mean?” Sycamore pushed back, frowning up at Lysandre’s grim countenance. “Dexio, Sina… all of my assistants… we’re on perfect terms. Why in Arceus’s name would they say anything like that?”

“It’s common knowledge that we are… friends…” Lysandre spat the word. “The fact that you are the only constant figure in my social sphere would not go unnoticed by the police. You need to be distanced from me. We need to make it look like you were not involved in this whole affair at all.”

“But I am involved. Sort of, at any rate. I’ve been here for ages, and they’re going to find us locked in a room together.”

Lysandre gave him one of the most miserable looks that Sycamore had ever received in his life. “They’re going to find us sitting at a table, having drinks and chatting like nothing just happened. Or very inappropriately engaged, at this rate. You don’t look like a captive, Augustine. And no offence, but you cannot act to save your life. I remember your pretence at being unable to speak French when that unruly drunk gentleman cornered you at the art gallery bar. It was appalling. I need to do something despicable. Please, forgive me.”

Sycamore opened his mouth to chide him from saying those words again, but something clouted into the side of his head with considerable violence. His vision went black and he sagged to the floor. His ears were ringing too loudly to hear anything else. He couldn’t hear Lysandre’s garbled apology. He didn’t hear the door being broken down.


	6. Chapter Six

When Augustine Sycamore came to, his first thought was that he was in another cupboard. He blinked. His eyesight appeared to have taken a brief vacation. He hoped it was enjoying itself. Focusing on his remaining senses, he noted that the room was quiet. It smelt like bleach, or possibly antiseptic. He let the pounding in his skull overtake him again. There was no way that any cupboard that smelt _that_ bad was worth being awake for.

Much later, a gentle prodding at his wrist made him open his eyes again. This time, a pale bandage swam into view. There was a tube attached to him. A drip. He winced. He blinked again, and the walls of the ‘cupboard’ transformed into pale green curtains. 

He was in a hospital bed. His memories lined up for individual attention, full of distressing information and bad news for what was to follow. And to make matters just that little bit extra special, his head felt like a Wailord had sat on it.

Memories of Lysandre’s office slowly reported in for duty. Inhaling deeply, Sycamore prodded at the back of his head and cringed.

He and Lysandre needed to have a serious talk about melodramatic actions, especially when they involved _knocking him out._

Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the man had had a very stressful day, Sycamore would almost have considered taking it personally. Attempting to end the world does things to a person’s judgement, apparently.

Did that include other events of that day?

He shook himself internally. _Not now, Augustine. Melodrama’s more Lysandre’s kind of thing. At least figure out what’s going on before you start having a panic attack, or second thoughts, or whatever this should be called._

If he weren’t almost 100% sure that his doctors, whoever they were, would forbid it, he’d have loved a glass of wine about now. A stiff drink of some kind, at least. It had been one hell of a day, and if his predictions were right, it was only going to get worse.

He slowly sat up, flexing his fingers and toes experimentally. No nerve damage. Good. At least Lysandre hadn’t been too excessive in his sudden and uncalled for and entirely unfair assault. The back of his throat tasted a bit like vomit, and he didn’t particularly want to keep it around. A glass of water was sitting helpfully at the side of the bed, and he helped himself to some small sips. His head was slowly clearing at least.

A further, cautious probe revealed a thin bandage holding a compress to the back of his head. It felt sticky and sweaty. However long he had been unconscious or dazed, it must have been impressive. Just what the hell had Lysandre managed to hit him with? He peeled it away distastefully, wincing at the throb of pain as he dislodged the pad. As he folded the bandage away, the curtains twitched back, revealing a particularly unimpressed doctor.

“Professor Sycamore, you really should have pressed your call button,” the woman curtly informed him. She took the dressing from his unprotesting hands and peered into his eyes. A torch was whipped out of her pocket and into his immediate air space. “How are you feeling?”

“Not the best,” he admitted. His throat wasn’t actually too sore. The blinking light of the torch made his head hurt, but nothing too dramatic. “What happened back there?”

The doctor smiled thinly. “You were assaulted by a criminal, Professor Sycamore. A nasty blow to the back of the head. Can you recall much of what happened before then? Please follow the light from my torch with your eyes as well as you can.”

Sycamore numbly did as he was told, vaguely wondering just what she was scribbling in her clipboard. Hopefully it was a prescription for some wine. He wasn’t an alcoholic; he just really felt like he’d earned a drink. “It’s a bit hazy. I don’t know if I actually know what happened, or if I just imagined a whole load of things.”

Actually, it wasn’t. He remembered their entire conversation perfectly. He was fairly sure, however, that he hadn’t done anything to deserve a concussion.

“I was speaking with Lysandre,” he said slowly. How much of a cover story had the other man cooked up? Too many details could ruin everything. He cleared his throat to stall for time. The doctor’s powdered face was stern, but nothing in her countenance looked too suspicious. Maybe she didn’t know a whole lot about what had happened, but since Lysandre had made the disastrous PR move of broadcasting his murder-speech to the _entire world_ it was likely that she knew the name, if not the details. 

“The police want to speak with you as soon as possible about that man,” the doctor informed him primly. She looked entirely unconvinced by the idea. “If you are not feeling well enough for them, then just tell me. I’ll make them leave. Right now it is important that you are not disturbed any more than is necessary. Too much activity could result in longer lasting damages. Do not feel compelled to do too much, Professor Sycamore. ”

He shook his head, ignoring the throb. Damn, that had been one hell of a strike! “Call me Augustine, please. I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with. I’d hate to keep Lumiose City’s finest waiting any longer than is really necessary.”

“There are some painkillers for you here.” She passed him a small clear cup. “The nurse will also be through with some food and drink for you. If you can finish them and keep them down, that’s a good sign. Otherwise, we’re going to have to keep you back for a scan. Deal?”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you, doctor…?”

“Ashforth.” A ghost of a smile pulled at her face, and she left the room.

Sycamore downed his pills with the rest of the water and settled into a semi-comfortable sitting position. His head flashed with pain as he accidentally leaned on the metal headboard.

He and Lysandre were going to have a _very_ long talk when all this was over. 

He woke again without realising that he’d fallen asleep. This time he felt infinitely better, but a brief stab of guilt flared. _Damn it, I told Dr Ashforth to let the police come in! I must have appeared so rude…_ He jabbed the call button on his bed, summoning a concerned nurse in seconds.

“Professor Sycamore, what do you need?”

“Nothing much,” he admitted. “I just remembered that I need to speak to the police. Are they still around?”

“They can come in whenever you’re ready for them,” the nurse reassured him. “They’ve got two officers waiting. They understand that you need your rest, so don’t worry. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

He shook his head and felt his brain rattle. _Curse you, Lysandre!_ “I’m happy to eat after I’ve spoken. I need to tell the officers something important.”

The nurse hurried away and Sycamore tried to smooth his rumpled shirt as best as he could. His lab coat had vanished, but on the bright side, they hadn’t swapped him into a hospital gown. Some small mercies still remained. _Lysandre, you and I are going to have many, many serious words about all this._

The two officers turned out to be a pair of blue-haired twins. “Officers Jenny,” Sycamore smiled. “Thank you for waiting. I do apologise for keeping you for quite so long.”

The nearest policewoman smiled. “Don’t mention it, Professor. Now, do you know why we’re here?”

“Because you found me at Lysandre’s Laboratories just after the end of the world didn’t happen,” he smiled wryly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You were unconscious when we found you, Professor Sycamore.” The other Jenny spoke up, flipping out her notebook. “Do you know why that was?”

A bitter laugh, entirely authentic, slipped out. “Yes, yes I do. Lysandre himself saw to that. He and I had had a bit of an argument.”

A pen skated crazily across the officer’s pad. “What were the details of that argument?”

Sycamore paused. Now he had to step carefully. The truth had to come out, but not necessarily for the worst. “I heard Lysandre’s broadcast over the Holocaster and panicked. He’s been a good friend to me for years, but I’d never known that he’d do anything like that, or even _think_ about doing anything like that. He’s a sensitive person. Loves the arts, loves his Pokémon… all that kind of thing. He’s helped me out in more ways than I can even recall. I heard the message and just knew that something really bad must be happening to him.”

“We’ve spoken with your assistants back at your lab, Professor. Do you know what they might have said about Lysandre?”

He chuckled. “Probably the same as what everyone else would say! He’s a bit scary-looking and aloof if you don’t know him, but it’s all a façade... mostly.”

“We spoke to a young man in your employ. Do you know what he said about your relationship with Lysandre?” Officer Jenny gave him a critical look. Sycamore shrugged. How on earth could he know? “He said that you knew Lysandre best, but were also probably the most clueless person on the planet when it came to reading a person’s feelings. For the record, he also wanted me to say ‘no offence’, if you ever heard that.”

“Ouch. None taken, I suppose?” Well, _someone_ was getting a pay cut! 

“Do you know what he meant by that?”

“Kind of, I think.” Now he was in dangerous territory. Fraternising with the enemy, literally in this case, could throw out everything he’d say in Lysandre’s defence. And technically there had only been very _mild_ fraternising. Barely any. It was almost a shame. “I’m guessing that you spoke with Dexio? He and I had a chat about Lysandre one night after I’d received a lift home from him. Apparently Lysandre isn’t usually in the habit of giving out favours, but I’d just thought it was normal. What I mean to say is that he’s actually a very generous person, but he’s easily misunderstood.”

He looked anxiously back at the two uniformed women. They were both giving him a matching unconvinced look. He tried again. “I get the feeling now, though I didn’t at the time… that he was struggling with some form of depression. He did not tell me it in as many words, and I never realised. Not until I heard the broadcast, that is, and when I found him in his office. He and I actually spoke properly, and I found out some things that I’d never even noticed before.” No lies there. The slight crack in his voice was entirely authentic too. “I have not… been a good friend. I failed him terribly. I should have seen the signs that he needed help, but I didn’t see a damn thing.”

“What did you converse with Lysandre about in his office?” The Jenny sitting closest to him gave him a gentle smile. The pen still hadn’t stopped moving across the page. “Did he tell you about the mechanics of his plan? How he intended to destroy the world?”

“Not immediately,” he admitted slowly. “I think I was too busy shouting at him at first. Then he told me that he was going to end it all, and that’s when I noticed that his heart really wasn’t in it. He wasn’t himself at all. At first I thought someone was forcing him to do it, it was that alien of him.”

“What were you talking about before you were injured?”

Ok. Time for the big swerve. “I told him that he needed to get help. I told him that he needed to reach out to the right people, and that he didn’t need to do this. I thought he didn’t believe me… but it seems like he did after all. I mean, he didn’t set off the device, did he? I never saw him leave. I guess that’s when I was incapacitated.”

He’d bent the time-line a little bit and glossed over a few facts, not to mention used a few vague words instead of actual, factual ones, but that wasn’t technically lying now, was it? Sycamore was holding his breath, but hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

One of the officers nodded slowly. “Your story complements the one we’ve received from the young trainers who confronted Lysandre and his machine. A young woman named Serena battled him, and after the battle he ceased his plans. She says that he left the scene after that. We are presuming that he returned to his office, and that’s why we found him there with you.”

“He came back to see me? That’s a surprise…” Sycamore was all wide-eyed innocence. “Maybe he really did hear what I’d had to say? I mean, the results of a Pokémon battle don’t mean that he has to commit to using the machine or not. He could have just gone ahead with the doomsday device. Maybe that battle was the last bit of persuasion he needed to realise that it was all a terrible idea. Maybe he came back to help me.”

Ok, he had officially pushed it a bit far there. He wasn’t _technically_ lying, was he? His stomach was doing awkward flops. He hoped that he wasn’t visibly sweating. 

“Are you feeling alright, Professor Sycamore? You’re looking a bit green.”

“Actually, my headache’s getting sore. I think I might need some more painkillers,” he lied hurriedly. Or rather, it wasn’t much of a lie. His head still felt like there was a stampede rushing around inside it. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“In your opinion, Professor Sycamore, should Lysandre be charged for his crimes?” The Jenny closest to the door was giving him a very measuring look. He swallowed and wracked his brains for the right answer.

“To be honest… yes. But I don’t think he really meant to hurt anyone, if that makes any sense. I don’t know if he actually committed a crime at all, any more than a man who stands at the edge of a bridge and threatens to jump really commits a crime. I think this was all a cry for help. I’m not a psychiatrist, or psychologist, or any of those things, but I think that’s the person to be asking, not me. Aside from that…” he shrugged, smiling weakly. “He’s my friend. I care a lot about him, even with all the nonsense he’s pulled today. I don’t want him to suffer. I do, however, want him to get help.”

The officers left and his doctor returned with a cup of pills and a frown. “We’ll keep you in overnight for observation. Is there anyone we can call to bring you a change of clothes and a toothbrush, or would you like to use some of the hospital supplies?”

Sycamore pulled a face. “I’ll call the lab and get someone to bring some stuff over. Dexio owes me a favour. Now and until the end of time, quite possibly.” 

The rest of the evening was spent dozing and visiting assorted machines. A CT scan revealed that his head was in good working order, but had one hell of a bump. The nausea was dying down. By the next morning, Sycamore had eaten, showered, and moved around like a normal person without wanting to be sick once. He was released into Dexio’s sheepish custody and they both took a taxi back to the lab.

“Sir…?” Dexio was almost visibly shaking in the back seat of the car. “Are you… well… are you angry with me? Do you want me to leave?”

Sycamore laughed. “What on earth are you talking about, Dexio?” The driver wasn’t listening in too closely, but the professor didn’t care in the slightest. It was a beautiful morning and the newspapers hadn’t said anything about Lysandre’s fate.

“I mean… the police spoke to me, and I think I said some stupid things. I don’t know if I said something wrong, but all their questions were so invasive! I really didn’t want to offend you, sir. I really hope I didn’t upset you.” Dexio’s voice was slightly choked. Sycamore turned around in surprise.

“Dexio! You told them the truth, and that’s what you were meant to do! Never apologise for telling the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it might make other people feel.” He gave him his most reassuring grin, pushing back his hair and almost not wincing at all from the pain in his head. “I’m not upset and I’m not angry. Furthest from it. You did the right thing, and I’m very pleased that you did.”

“…thank you sir.” The relief on the young man’s face was touching. He paused for a moment. “Are you ok?”

“In what way?” Sycamore was staring out the window now. The lab was only a few houses away. He dug into his pockets for the fare. 

“I mean, are _you_ ok? Not your head, I mean you. I mean… what happened back there… it sounded rough.” Dexio finished lamely as the cab pulled to a stop. Sycamore tipped the driver and let himself out, waiting cheerily for Dexio to do the same. 

“Why on earth would anything be wrong with me?” He asked pleasantly as they entered the lab. “I’m a picture of health! Just a little bit sore, but I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I meant, sir.” Dexio’s face was serious again. “I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but sir, Lysandre… he was your friend, and all this just happened! How are you handling it?” 

_Poor kid. He’s got a big heart and no idea what to do with it. Now why does that sound familiar?_ Sycamore stopped, turning to rest one hand on Dexio’s shoulder. The young man spluttered slightly, staring intently at the Professor’s face.

“I’m handling it as well as can be expected, Dexio,” he said gently. “That’s all. Now’s not the time to think about it. Lysandre has to owe up to the crimes he’s committed, and Kalos needs to feel safe again. That means medals for the ones who stopped him, and quick delivery of justice for the ones who caused the scare. Until all that’s been sorted out, I’m going to be on the side-lines. I’m not one of the people who got hurt here, after all. I need to consult with Serena, Callum, and the others. They’re just children, and they had to face this nightmare head on. They’re the ones to worry about right now. Don’t worry about me.”

“But, sir…” Dexio’s face was some awkward combination of pity and pride, and Sycamore suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He let go of the man’s shoulder and darted for the nearest bathroom, narrowly making it to the toilet before his stomach rejected breakfast with interest. Resurfacing and dunking his head into the sink, Sycamore glared into the mirror. Dexio knocked on the bathroom door. “Sir, do you need your medication? The hospital gave me your painkillers to hold…”

“Maybe later. I don’t think I could keep them down right now.” Sycamore ruefully splashed some water to his face before re-emerging. Dexio passed him the packet wordlessly.

“Thanks…” He sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do any work today, but feel free to come and get me if anything tricky comes up or if anyone tries to call. I’ll just be up in my personal rooms, waiting for the world to stop spinning.”

Dexio hesitated, digging into his pockets. “I have something else for you sir… it’s the number of the officers who came by to speak to me. They said that you should call them once you’re home. They said it wasn’t important, but they’d like it if you gave them a call.”

Sycamore’s stomach sank for new reasons. He gingerly accepted the card. “Right… thanks, Dexio. Thanks as well for all your help today. Feel free to take a longer lunch break. Hey, take a day off, if you’d like.”

Dexio flashed him a tight smile. “Thanks, but no thanks, sir. I want to stay in today.” _To keep an eye on the man-child who can’t look after himself_ Sycamore filled in mulishly. He nodded vaguely and retreated up the elevator to his private rooms. The officers’ card weighed heavily in his hands.

Seated at his small sofa in front of a TV that hardly ever got used, Sycamore palmed the card and picked up the phone. Might as well do the call while he still had a concussion to blame for any lapses in conversation or pauses between answers.

“Officer Jenny, Lumiose Prison Transfer. Who is this?”

Well, _that_ was an unexpected result. “Professor Augustine Sycamore. I was told that I should call?”

“Ah, Professor Sycamore! We didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Would you be able to come in and make another statement tomorrow?”

He shut his eyes. “I don’t see why not.”

“Excellent, sir. It’s much appreciated.”

A thought flitted across his mind. “Can I ask you how Lysandre is doing?”

A pause. “I’m not able to give out that kind of information, sir.”

“That’s ok… is he allowed to have visitors?”

A longer pause. “Not at this stage.” He could hear paper being rustled around in the background. “He’s currently being interviewed by officers and our psychiatric counsellor. He’ll be unavailable for visitors for quite some time.”

Sycamore’s heart sank. The thought of Lysandre being sent back and forth between cells and interviews, his brain picked over and picked apart on a daily basis, was completely wrenching. He gritted his teeth. “I’d like to register an intent to visit as early as possible. Please let the officers in charge know. I’m happy to provide any references or any assistance needed. I’ll come in at any time and for any length of time. Call me at any stage. I don’t care what time it is, I will make time for this. Can that be noted, please?”

The voice at the other end of the phone sounded sympathetic. “I’ll do what I can sir.” The call rang off.

Sycamore curled up onto the sofa and flicked on the news channel. Even on mute, images of the destroyed machine swam into view, surrounded by emergency crews and confused locals. There even looked to be tourists from nearby towns flocking to the place. Someone was selling t-shirts. 

Say what you want to about sudden, media-driven disasters; they sure do boost the tourism industry.

Staring blankly at the screen, still no information about Lysandre’s arrest had appeared. It was almost as though the world thought he was dead. The thought was like an icy stab in Sycamore’s chest, but he closed over the thought like a noose.

If I pretend he’s not there, it will help people move on faster. If people move on faster, then the level of public disturbance will be lower. They can lessen his sentence.

Honestly, he really should have considered a career in law.

Or alternatively, he shouldn’t have given over so much of his heart to an idiotic megalomaniac.


	7. Chapter Seven

The next day was substantially busier than it had any right to be. Sycamore’s head no longer felt like a recently burst Pokéball, but he did feel that the universe should be a little less demanding in light recent overtime on the unpleasantness front. Not only did he have to go to the police station to give another statement, but he’d also been contacted by the mayor of Lumiose City, asking if he would step in and award medals to his students. 

Call Sycamore old-fashioned, but he was pretty sure that medal-handing-out was distinctly _not_ his job. The medals didn't even have starter Pokémon printed on them, which may have ordinarily been used as a flimsy excuse for his involvement. The mayor seemed pretty vague about all that. Sounded like he was on a beach somewhere. Truth be told though, Sycamore had never even heard of an ‘Honour of Kalos’ medal before. Maybe it was meant to be handed out by the nearest Pokémon researcher. Who was he to judge?

Either way, it meant that he had substantially less time than he would have liked to arrange for his police interview. It also meant that he probably wouldn’t be able to wait around and protest until they let him visit Lysandre.

Who he’d still heard absolutely nothing about, for that matter.

He’d hurriedly pulled himself together, hurrying down to the labs, and nearly running over Sina as he’d burst out of the lift. “Shoot, sorry!” 

She staggered, almost dropping her wad of files. “No… don’t mention it, professor! Are you ok?” The concern in her voice overrode her surprise.

“More or less! Busy again. Can’t keep everyone waiting! But on that note, do you mind taking over running some of my scans today? Urgent business has cropped up.” 

She frowned at his grin. “Professor, we’re almost out of work to do. You haven’t updated the charts in nearly a week. I know you’re busy, but Dexio and I, plus the rest, are just going to be sitting around and twiddling our thumbs while the work we don’t know about piles up! We’ve had to turn away eight children this week alone from getting their first Pokémon.”

Sycamore shut his eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry. Concussion and all that got in the way.”

“I know you've been sick. We all do. I'm sorry to put this on you, but could you please at least update the charts before you go?” She wheedled. “We can cover for you for the rest of the day, but we need to know what to tell the kids when they come by. Will you at least be in tomorrow to sign off on their starters?”

“Of course,” he promised. “I’ve got some last things to do for the police today and then the big medal ceremony in the city centre. You should come along to that, you know! It’s a very important occasion.”

“Big medal ceremony?” Sina cocked her head to one side. “You mean the one they were talking about on the radio? You’re in it, professor?”

“I’m practically arranging it,” he said cheerily. _Whether I liked it or not._ “I’ll need most of the afternoon free to get it done. You should definitely come along. Tell Dexio too, if I don’t see him first.” 

He turned and pottered away to the lab. Sure enough, the chart sheet on the wall was almost entirely crossed out. He glanced mournfully at the massive pile of paperwork, sitting uncollected in his in-tray. Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day. He scrubbed out the task list and hastily updated it with some basic scans and data entry for Mega Evolution. Garchomp wouldn’t protest about the extra attention. She was a pro at all this fussing. He’d still have to slip her a load of treats once it was all done though. Plus his assistants wouldn’t be terribly impressed with the busywork, but it was better than them sitting around and doing nothing all day. He’d make it up to them for the office Christmas party. Somehow. He could only hope that their boredom wouldn’t result in excessive graffiting of his desk, or hiding of unpleasant stuff in his spare lab coat pockets.

Memos officially left, he caught a taxi to the police station. He was left to wait in a particularly grim waiting room, flicking through a magazine and trying to pretend that he was somewhere else. The drab, grey walls reminded him of the hospital. He wondered if Lysandre’s cell was the same dull shade. How would the man be coping with such a drop in standards? _Maybe I could sneak him some wallpaper._

“Professor Sycamore?”

“Yes, that’s me!” He stood up hastily. Officer Jenny stood in the doorway, along with an unfamiliar man in a brown trench coat. He followed them through to an interview room even more uninviting than the previous room, if that were possible. The walls here were the kind of grey that sucked the soul right out of you via judicious application of excessive boredom. Sycamore suppressed a shudder. He took a seat at one side of the table, while Officer Jenny and the unintroduced man settled on the other side. A recorder was clicked on.

“Are you Professor Augustine Sycamore of Lumiose City?”

“Actually, I was born in Couriway Town, but I do live in Lumiose City,” he replied carefully. “So… yes?”

A brief smile flickered on Officer Jenny’s face. “I am Officer Jenny, and I will be conducting this interview along with an associate from the international police. He is known as Looker, but will not be speaking today.”

Sycamore nodded to the other man curiously. “Nice to meet you, Looker. Sorry about the circumstances, mind.”

Looker inclined his head. A pad of paper was withdrawn and he scribbled out a reply. _It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Professor._

“Uh, thanks.” Sycamore frowned. Did he have a speech problem? Or if he was a member of the international police, maybe he didn’t want to have his voice on record. He wasn’t sure which. “I’m happy to answer any questions you may have.”

Officer Jenny cleared her throat. “How long have you known Lysandre Fleur-de-lis?”

Sycamore blinked. “That’s... Lysandre, right? That's his surname?”

At the confused looks on both Officer Jenny’s and Looker’s faces, he apologised. “Sorry… funniest thing, that. I never actually knew if Lysandre was his first or last name, or if he even had another name. I suppose I really should have thought about it more. Arceus, that’s a long name! Mystery solved, I guess!”

“Please answer the question, Professor.”

“Sorry, sorry… I’ve known Lysandre for nearly three years now. We met at a conference on fairy type Pokémon, and have been in regular contact ever since.”

Looker scribbled something in his pad, which Officer Jenny read out. “Looker asks: what was the reason for this sustained contact?”

“Educational, mostly. For me-” he clarified. “Lysandre offered to teach me how to be a better public speaker. I was dismal at that conference. He took pity on me and offered to help me out. We met up once a week or so.”

“Mostly educational?” She pressed.

“We became friends not long after that,” Sycamore admitted. “The public speaking premise became just a guise for coffee and a chat. I get the impression that Lysandre didn’t have many friends, but he did like to talk. For some reason, he didn’t seem to mind talking to me. We went to meals, galleries, official functions... that kind of thing.”

Officer Jenny nodded. “That corroborates with information we've received so far. When did you first notice that all was not well with Lysandre?”

Sycamore wracked his brains. “Well… I was a bit concerned by the Team Flare thing. I mean, he’s not the most sociable person. For him to start amassing followers like that struck me as a bit odd, but I just assumed it was some kind of promotional thing. Something to do with his laboratories, or the holocaster. Or a hobby. I mean, he’s his own person; I don’t control what he does with his life. And quite frankly, he's made some weird choices in the past. I just figured this was one of them.”

 _What do you know about Team Flare?_ Looker’s notepad queried.

“Honestly? Not much. I didn’t see them very often. A few red suits around the city, but I just always associated that with Lysandre’s café décor. A kind of colour blindness, maybe? I kind of just wrote them off as more employees. Didn’t see anything too odd about it. Not until I heard the broadcast, that is.” He sighed. “I don’t half feel stupid about that, let me tell you.”

“We received a message from you yesterday night, asking to meet with Lysandre,” Officer Jenny continued. Her eyes were stern. “It was a rather insistent message. Would you like to explain it?”

Sycamore shrugged. “Lysandre’s my friend, whether I know his surname or not. I figure that right now he’s in very short supply of friends. I want to help him.”

“You are aware, of course, that Lysandre is not only being charged with property damage and acts of terrorism, but also with your assault?” Officer Jenny looked slightly incredulous. “In fact, of all the acts he stands accused of, your assault is the easiest one to prove. Why would you be so insistent on meeting up with him?”

“Friends do stupid things to each other when they’re hurt,” Sycamore answered firmly. He folded his arms. “I don’t expect stellar treatment from Lysandre when he’s not himself. I stand by what I said back in the hospital; he needs treatment for his depression, not thrown in prison for things he consciously decided not to do. He had every opportunity to go through with the terrible things he threatened, but he prevented them. He destroyed the machine. No one got hurt. Aside from me, I suppose. And that's not really an issue. No lasting damage for me, and frankly, he now owes me _so many favours_.”

“Sympathy aside, Lysandre is a criminal and will be processed as such.” Officer Jenny shuffled her papers. She gave him a measuring look, but mercifully didn't question his show of dedication. “Now, I need to ask you a few things about Lysandre’s property…”

Sycamore dully listened as Jenny read off a list of different houses and office buildings known to belong to Lysandre and his company. Stock, bank accounts, and business things that made little sense of him were rattled off. He answered simply yes or no to whichever sounded correct. 

“I take it they’re all being seized by the police?” He asked quietly. “What about his personal possessions, the paintings and such?”

“They’ll be held in storage for now,” Officer Jenny informed him crisply. “If he’s found guilty, they’ll be auctioned off as part of his reparations to society. The houses and such, he’s already volunteered to surrender and donate to charity as part of his penance.”

Sycamore closed his eyes. “Is that… normal?”

“Not usually,” the police officer conceded. “But he has been very forthwith about it and is insisting on it. We wanted to corroborate with you to make sure that he does actually own these things before we begin the transfer processes.”

“The café and the labs, definitely. I’ve seen those for myself. I’ve never heard about the manor home, but I know he comes from a distantly royal line, so it’s definitely possible.” Sycamore’s head was heavy. He felt sick, and wasn’t sure how much of it was the concussion talking. “Whereabouts did you say it was?”

“The address he provided is right here…” She pushed a document across the table. “Are you familiar with it?”

He peered at the address. “That’s not far away from the Parfum Palace… wow! I haven’t been there myself, but I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“Well, it’s going to be held in public trust now, so that should be easy,” Officer Jenny said grimly. Looker scribbled another note down on the page, and she read it out to Sycamore. “Looker wants to know whether or not you know of someone called Xerosic. He’s believed to be an associate of Lysandre’s within Team Flare.” Looker's stare had become almost oppressively intense now. Sycamore held it as best as he could, but slowly shook his head.

“Honestly, I wish I could help, but I have no idea who that is. Lysandre didn’t talk about Team Flare with me, nor did he mention anyone by that name. The only people I ever saw him speak with were all people that I know too, and none of them go by that name. Do you have a picture?”

A photograph was pulled eagerly from Looker's jacket pocket and pushed across the table. A thoroughly creepy individual in a bright red suit with questionable fashion choices leered back at Sycamore from the printed page. He wrinkled his nose despite himself. "Uh... no. Definitely not. I'd remember someone like that."

Looker’s face was visibly disappointed, but he gave Sycamore a stiff nod and drew the paper back to himself. Officer Jenny gave him a tight smile. “Are there any questions you’d like to ask, Professor Sycamore?”

He straightened in his chair. “I want to know when I’ll be able to see Lysandre. I haven't heard anything from him yet and I'm a bit worried.”

“I can’t answer that question right now.”

“Can you tell me whether he has help then? Is he getting legal advice?” He pushed. He leaned forward urgently. “I just need to know that he’s not alone in there. He’s not himself right now. He needs help. I don't think he should be doing this alone.”

“Lysandre is currently working with our police psychiatrist, and we are waiting for his assessment. After that, we will be able to arrange a meeting, or whatever has been deemed appropriate.” Officer Jenny surprised him with the sudden information. “For that reason, I can’t give you a set time right now.” She looked sympathetic underneath all her stern professionalism. 

He nodded slowly. “Ok. I can accept that. But please, if he needs anything, let me know.”

“Would you be willing to meet with and talk to our psychiatrist?”

He blinked. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

“No, but you may be able to assist him with Lysandre’s treatment in some way,” she gave him a small smile. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I can at least pass along the message.”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, anything.”

The rest of the interview was relatively quiet. He was unable to help with any of Looker’s questions, and left the room feeling slightly stupid. The other man had seemed very concerned, but was unable or unwilling to speak in front of him. It definitely seemed like some kind of secret police thing. He left the room well before Sycamore did, and there was no sign of him outside the police building when he left and headed back to the city centre. Sycamore tried to push the events from his mind. After all, he had a parade to manage.

He kept a sunny smile on his face as the confetti fell. Serena, Callum, Tierno, Shauna, and Trevor all walked down the street, torn between delight and nervousness at all the excitement. Dexio and Sina, doubtless taking a break from trashing his office in petty vengeance, joined the audience. His smile as he awarded the children their medals wasn’t feigned. However, even the glow of victory over both Lysandre and the Pokémon League wasn’t enough to hide the concern on Serena’s face.

Sycamore could understand how she felt. Or at least, he suspected he did. Once the pageantry and unexpected Pokémon battle were over, he invited her back to the lab.

“What’s wrong, Professor?” She asked wearily. “Does my Pokédex need updated again?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he reassured her. “I just thought you could use a break. Do you want some tea or something? The lab’s nearby. Plus, you can heal your Pokémon. That little battle at the end was a bit of a shock.”

Serena hesitated, but nodded. The medal of Kalos clinked against her jacket. She trotted down the road after him, avoiding the admiring glances of the slowly dispersing crowds. Cameras were still flashing. People were whispering behind their hands. Serena pulled her chin under her collar and Sycamore felt a little sorry for her. “I take it you’re keen to get back on the road?” He asked her gently. “Away from all this, I mean.”

Still unable to master her words, Serena nodded again. Sycamore took the hint and stayed quiet until they’d made it back to the relative peace and quiet of the lab. She visibly relaxed as they crossed into the air-conditioned landing, and almost looked back to her old self as they took the lift up to his office. The noise of the crowd was almost completely muffled by the thick windows. 

“Better?” He joked as she took the spare chair at his desk. She gave him a grateful smile as she sank into the cushion.

“Yeah, thanks professor. It was a bit overwhelming out there… I didn’t realise there were going to be so many people!”

“Well, why wouldn’t there be?” He reasoned, fishing into his drinks cabinet for a box of tea. There was a built in hot-water dispenser in the same cabinet, and it only ever tasted slightly like dust. Definitely acceptable. “It’s not every day that someone gets acknowledged for saving the world, you know! Or at least the country. It's a big deal, Serena! Everyone wants to get a look at you and get the chance to say thank you.”

“I guess…it's still a bit much though...” She trailed off as she accepted the mug. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He took a sip and winced as he burned his tongue. “Argh! Sorry, mind the tea. It bites.”

She giggled, almost sounding back to normal. “Sure thing, professor.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” He asked her gently. “You seemed a bit lost out there. And I don't just mean because of the crowds. Is everything ok? Your Pokémon all recovered from the battles? You've done a lot recently.” 

She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her tea. “I think so. I’m just a bit… I don’t know… confused, I guess. I mean, I didn’t ever expect to have to save the world. It's all a bit overwhelming. I thought that going to the Pokémon League straight away would take my mind off things, but I don't really think it did.”

“If it’s any consolation, no one ever expected you to save the world. No one really should have to do that kind of thing.” He settled down into his own chair, perching his tea on his lap. “It’s not a burden that anyone should ever have to bear, especially someone so young,” he repeated. "You're entitled to be confused." 

Serena gave him a shrewd look. “I still can’t believe that Lysandre turned out to be evil all along. I just keep thinking about how many times I spoke to him and battled him, and never suspected a thing.”

He suppressed the flinch. “I think ‘evil’ is a pretty strong word. I’m sorry that he turned out so badly, but I don’t think he ever meant to truly hurt anyone. But thanks to your hard work, no one ever had to find out otherwise.” He took another experimental sip of tea, and this time suffered no grievous injury. "You're not the only one who was surprised by what happened. I've known him for a long time, and I had no idea that this was all going through his head." 

“I still can’t believe he’s gone though.”

He paused. “What?”

She turned to him with worried eyes. “He’s dead, isn’t he? There’s no way he could have survived the collapse.” She looked away. “Maybe it’s for the best…”

Sycamore felt truly uncomfortable. Should he encourage her misconception, or correct her? He supposed the point would be moot if Lysandre’s sentencing were ever broadcast on the TV. Better to give her the truth now, rather than let her get upset about it later. “Serena… he survived the collapse. He’s with the police now.”

Serena sat up, startled enough to nearly slop out her tea. Unlike Sycamore, she was possessed with the coordination to hurriedly stop the cup. “What? How is that possible?”

“Honestly, I have no idea how he survived. But he did. He came and spoke to me just before he got arrested. He told me that he regretted everything and that you had helped him to see sense. He was... very repentant.”

A little of the haunted look shifted from Serena’s face, but she still looked perplexed. “But everyone says that he’s gone… Why do they think he’s gone?”

Sycamore frowned. “I’m not entirely sure. It might be because if everyone thinks he’s gone, then no one has to worry about what he might do any more. Lots of people in the world get frightened of things that they can’t control or don’t trust; sometimes it’s easier to tell them that those things don’t exist any more than to convince them that they’re still out there, but no longer any danger to them. Maybe that’s what’s going on here. But it’s not the truth. Lysandre is alive, Serena, and he means no harm to anyone any more. He's going to pay for what he's done though.”

“But then why did he do it all? Why did he trap Xerneas and use him to threaten everyone?” Her hands moved defensively to the bright Pokéball on her hip. Sycamore watched with interest. He’d never seen the legendary Pokémon in person before. He did, however, hope that he wasn't about to be confronted with a giant antler-bearing legendary creature in the middle of his office. He wasn't sure how much antler-clearance he needed between the ground and the ceiling.

“That’s something that he’ll have to answer for himself one day,” he told her. He set his tea down on the desk, still keeping an eye on Xerneas's Pokéball. “If you want, you can ask him for yourself. He’s going to be repaying his debt to society. He owes you answers, the same as he owes them to everyone else. Would you like to arrange a visit?”

Serena sat back, hand still on Xerneas’s Pokéball, but her face calmer and more thoughtful. “I don’t think I want to see him,” she said slowly. “Not yet.”

“Quite right,” he agreed. “You’ve other things more worthy of your time. Filling in your Pokédex, for one thing! Speaking of which, may I…?”

She wordlessly passed him the shining device, a long-suffering smile on her face. He flicked the screen and scrolled through the list of encountered and captured Pokémon. It was truly staggering just how much she had achieved in such a short amount of time. “Saving the world, defeating the Pokémon league, mastering Mega Evolution… and seeing all these Pokémon? You really are something special!” He laughed, passing it back to her. “You’re nearly there! I’ve got a gift for you when you’ve seen the last few Pokémon. It’s pretty special, so make sure you stop by as soon as you get the chance.”

She grinned at him. “Thanks again for the Oval Stone, professor. It’s been really handy.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

"And thanks as well for telling me the truth about Lysandre. I think I'm going to go out again. I want to think about things some more, out on the road with just my Pokémon. I just need some time, I think."

She left the office looking much more at peace with the world. Apparently she was also planning on catching the train to another town. He gave her a spare pass to get to Kiloude City, for a bit of variety. Feeling slightly better about things himself, he headed down the labs and threw himself into the sea of paperwork awaiting his attention.

Sometimes he wished he’d been better as a trainer. He could have been running free across the countryside right now, just like Serena, catching Pokémon instead of sitting inside, writing up long and boring forms about how much food they’d eaten and whether or not it had affected their Mega Evolution rates. 

It was quite a cross to bear.

The next few days were almost surreally normal. Life clicked back into place. He wrote reports, ran tests, and about forgot things like changing bulbs in the lift so that everyone wasn’t forced to travel in pitch darkness, and not to leave the new litter of Fennekins unattended near a bag of marshmallows. The usual kinds of things. He sometimes caught himself reaching for his phone to excitedly text Lysandre with his latest findings. His hand froze every time, brain slowing. _Of course._ He heard nothing from the police department. He left a few more messages on their answering machine, but to no avail.

It was the beginning of December when he finally received word from the police department. He had finished a long day of handing out starter Pokémon and coaxing yet another Froakie down from the rafters, and had staggered up to his rooms, intending on doing nothing more active than showering and crawling into bed. But when he got there, the answer machine on his ancient phone was flashing. He slapped the button without much thought, and busied himself with sprawling onto the couch.

_Professor Sycamore, this is Officer Jenny calling. We’ve approved your request for a meeting with Mr Fleur-de-lis on a conditional visitation. The only available time for this is at 7a.m. tomorrow. If you are able to attend, then please return this call as soon as possible._

He was up like a shot and hammering the number, already committed to memory, into the receiver. “Hello, yes! This is Professor Sycamore. So sorry about the delay – I’m definitely able to come along tomorrow for a visit.”

The Officer Jenny on the end of the phone hummed and hawed as she tracked down his references. “Ah, yes. That will be fine, sir. Just so you are aware, the visit can last for no more than fifteen minutes and you will need to arrive sightly early for a briefing on what you can and cannot talk about. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said hastily.

“Also, there’s a request that you speak with Mr Fleu-de-lis’ doctor when you arrive. Or when you’re done with the meeting, whichever is possible.”

“His doctor?” He clutched the receiver more tightly. Was he sick?

“Yes, professor. Will that be ok?”

“Bien-sûr. Not a problem. I will most certainly speak with the doctor.”

“Excellent, have a good evening, professor.” The phone went dead and Sycamore sagged into the couch. 

All of this was definitely not good for his heart.

He barely slept that night. He tossed and turned, waking every hour with a jolt, shifting to stare at his alarm clock. He’d never been more worried about sleeping in accidentally; not even his thesis defence had put so much fear into him. Uneasy dreams of running for a bus that wouldn’t stop, and chasing Froakies that had stolen his clothes, raced through his head in uncomfortable and highly questionable circles. He was almost relieved, though completely exhausted, when his alarm finally went off and put him out of his misery. 

He dressed shakily in the dark and made himself a breakfast that tasted like sawdust. He was up and out of the lab well before anyone else had turned up for work. Maybe he’d be back before they even started work for the day. It was that damnably early, after all.

There weren’t any taxis running, as he’d suspected, so he grabbed his bike and painstakingly pedalled his way to the police station. The roads were quiet and no one gave him a second glance. He was shaking and sweating by the time he arrived, and he wasn’t entirely sure that the bike was to blame. He left it chained up to a nearby lamppost and hurried inside.

“Professor Sycamore? I’m here for a visit with Mr Fleur-de-lis.” The name sounded bizarre on his tongue. It was like a disguise. Perhaps that was the whole point; people would forget the incident eventually, but in the meantime, a less familiar name would help matters along. The secretary nodded him through, and he was led by an officer to the back of the building. They passed through several security check-points. His pockets were emptied and his Pokéballs confiscated. Sycamore walked down the slick concrete hallways like a condemned man, heart hammering in his chest.

The officer stopped outside a sealed white plastic door. “You mustn’t discuss anything to do with the case against him,” she warned. “Or the particulars of the events he’s being charged with. Those are all off-limits topics, unless you really want those details to be recovered from the surveillance tapes and played in front of a courtroom. Understand?”

He nodded, mouth too dry to speak.

“Good. You’re welcome to discuss anything else aside from that.” Officer Jenny looked rather pleased with herself. “He has been a model prisoner so far. But if you are concerned at any point for your safety, there is a buzzer on the door.”

He winced. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

She pulled out a ring of keys and swung open the door. Sycamore took in the sterile pale walls first, the cheap plastic furniture, and then the shockingly bright hair of the man seated at the table. Even in scrubbed out prison clothes and with his hair aggressively tied back, Lysandre still stood out like a slightly disdainful sore thumb. 

Sycamore ignored the officer and staggered into the room. He barely noticed the door closing behind him. “Lysandre?” 

The other man rose. He wasn’t wearing any handcuffs, Sycamore dimly noticed. He must have _really_ made a good impression. His eyes were tired, but also cautious. He didn’t move from behind the table, so Sycamore did the walking for them. It was almost entirely automatic. He didn’t think twice about it. He marched around the table and grabbed the other man by his shoulders, tugging him into a possessive hug. “Arceus above, Lysandre!”

“Augustine…” Lysandre’s hands hovered, and then slowly lowered to rest themselves on his shoulder blades. He felt slightly thinner, or maybe that was just Sycamore’s paranoia talking. The rough calico of the prison uniform felt alien, completely opposed to Lysandre’s preferred designer wools and cottons. He hated the feel, but dragged the damn stuff closer.

He pulled back marginally to look the taller man in the eyes, anxiously surveying his face. “Are you well, Lysandre? How have they been treating you?”

Lysandre cleared his throat, cheeks flushing slightly. His eyes darted to the side and Sycamore suspected that there must be a camera nearby. He pulled himself a little further back, reluctantly. “You feel thinner, my friend.”

The look of betrayal on Lysandre’s face was agonising, but he offered him a small wink in consolation. “Have you been treated well?” He repeated. "You're not speaking. It's doing wonders for my nerves."

Lysandre tugged him closer into the hug, then released him and lowered himself into the chair, face tight with reluctance. “As well as I deserve. In fact, substantially better than that, I would say. Please, take a seat, Augustine.”

“Have you been receiving the medical attention you need? Do you have a lawyer? What are they saying?” He didn't move.

Lysandre gave him a reproachful smile. “So many questions, Augustine. I get rather enough of that on a daily basis as it is.”

“Sorry, shit! Sorry, I didn’t even think… do you want to ask me any questions?” He wracked his brains frantically as he shifted to take his seat, frustratingly far away from the other man. “I mean, I’ve just been at the lab. Business as usual. But I discovered more Mega Evolutions! Mega Altaria – it’s the fluffiest thing you can ever imagine. Seriously, it’s a suffocation hazard. I’ve a paper coming out next week.” 

Lysandre chuckled wryly. “You certainly have been busy. I have been… substantially less so.”

“Yeah… I suppose that makes sense.” He leaned forward, offering out a hand. To his immense relief, Lysandre took it instantly. Apparently that wasn’t excessively suspicious conduct in the other man’s eyes, or at least in the eyes of those watching the surveillance cameras. “It’s been quiet without you. I miss our conversations.”

Lysandre inclined his head, eyes boring into Sycamore’s own. “As do I. More than you could know.”

Sycamore shook his head. “What’s going on so far? I heard that you gave up a load of your property.”

He nodded, long red ponytail swishing in a manner both highly unusual and irrationally intriguing to Sycamore. “Team Flare owns much property, as does Lysandre Laboratories. Neither of these is of value any more. I have given it all up to be used for charitable causes, although with every penny I own.”

“Your own personal belongings as well?”

Lysandre hesitated. “Some of those are of sentimental value, or are of no practical use to anyone.”

“I’ll keep them in storage for you, if you want. Or if I’m allowed. I’m not too sure how they do things here.” Sycamore offered quickly. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I bought you some of that stuff. The paintings, at least! I can say they’re technically mine. Just let me know which things you need and I'll keep them safe for you.”

Lysandre gave him a thin smile. His blue eyes were cautious, but did not waver from Sycamore’s gaze. “Augustine, there is something more important that I need to ask you.”

He leaned forward, fingers tightening around Lysandre’s own. “What is it?”

“My doctor is going to propose something to you, and I would like you to refuse him.”

Sycamore blinked. “Why?”

“It is not appropriate, and I disagree with his theory. I do not want you to consent to the suggestion.”

“Ok, now I’m intrigued.” He released Lysandre’s hand to run his own through his hair, fixing the other man with a quizzical stare. “Is it some kind of treatment?”

“Yes.” The taller man was looking away now.

“Would it help?”

He closed his eyes. “Perhaps.”

“Then why not do it?” He asked in confusion. Then he paused. “Wait…is it some kind of painful, experimental treatment? I can definitely see your point if that’s the case. But why would they ask me?” 

“I have listed you as my medical second. In the event of a medical emergency, you have full control over all decisions.”

Sycamore sat back in his chair, at a loss of words. “That’s… quite a thing, Lysandre.”

Lysandre didn’t seem to think so. He gave Sycamore a flat look, almost a sneer. “Is it such a surprise? I would quite literally put my life in your hands, Augustine. I would say that you have earned that much, whether or not you appreciate the gesture.”

“Don’t be obtuse, of course I appreciate it!” Sycamore retorted indignantly. “I’m just a little surprised is all!” He shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of this, Lysandre. Why are they suggesting weird treatments for you? There’s no reason for it.”

Now Lysandre looked slightly uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair, pointedly looking away. “It is not… an excessively odd treatment. But it is not one I wish to pursue.”

“They can only do it with your consent, right?”

Lysandre inclined his head. “Correct.”

“But if I give my consent, they’ll override you?”

“No…” He sighed. “I will be compelled to go along with it. But I would prefer not to. If you are willing to undergo this process, then I will agree, but I would infinitely prefer that you not be placed in this situation.”

Sycamore threw up his hands. “Ok, I’m officially lost now. Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

Lysandre’s eyes were glittering. He looked more like his old self than Sycamore had seen so far, but also oddly like an antagonised Pyroar. “It’s no matter! Just decline the doctor’s suggestion, and all will be fine. I am getting sufficient help here, and have no need of any alternative therapies.”

Sycamore shrugged. “Well, if you say so…” _I’m definitely going to be checking with that doctor first. There’s something more to this than he’s letting on._ “I’ve got a question for you now, if you don’t mind answering one.”

Lysandre nodded slowly. “And what would that be?” His voice was careful.

“Why the hell did you never tell me your last name was Fleur-de-lis? I’ve been thinking you only had one name for years! Do you have any idea how stupid you’ve made me feel?”

Lysandre’s eyes widened incredulously. His mouth opened, closed again, and then fell open in genuine laughter. He rocked back on the chair, eyes closed in mirth. Sycamore pouted, but couldn’t help but grin at the other man’s amusement. “Seriously, Lysandre, what the hell?”

“It had never occurred to me that you may never read up on these things,” Lysandre said once he’d regained a little self-control. He wiped away a small tear. His face was flushed, and Sycamore’s chest ached in unfamiliar ways at the sight of it. “I apologise. I was unaware that you had not found an answer to this very simple question. Nor had even bothered asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny…” 

Lysandre opened his mouth to retort, but the interview room door swung open. Officer Jenny tapped her watch and Sycamore’s heart fell. “I need to go now, I guess.” 

Lysandre nodded wordlessly. His hand shifted on the table and Sycamore grasped it, clamping it into a handshake. He gave the man a look that he hoped spoke volumes, then turned and followed the Officer out the room. Neither he nor Lysandre said a word. It felt like his throat had completely closed up. The door shut with a firm _click_ and with it he felt his stomach drop. 

He could only wonder what the doctor was about to ask of him.


	8. Chapter Eight

Sycamore was led to another room, this time substantially less plastic in content. There was a cushy leather couch, water cooler, and unoccupied desk. He settled himself awkwardly onto the couch at the police officer’s suggestion and looked around as she left the room. Plaques and certificates lined the walls. They all looked rather impressive.

He stifled a yawn. The early rise was starting to take its toll. The adrenalin of having seen Lysandre again was beginning to wear off. He was still quietly mystified by Lysandre’s apparent aversion to this exceptionally qualified person.

What on earth could be so bad that he’d have him promise to refuse the request?

Sycamore had a relatively limited understanding of psychiatry. He was a researcher by trade, and specialising in Pokémon at that. His usual branch of psychiatry usually didn’t extend much beyond trying to guess whether a particular Pokémon or starter trainer was in a bitey mood or not. 

He was feeling more than a little out of his depth.

“Professor Sycamore, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Dr Carson. You can call me Ellie.” An older woman, wearing thick glasses and a brightly patterned sweater, appeared at the door with a mug of tea. She bustled past him with a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. “I just had to duck out for a caffeine hit. Terribly early, isn’t it? Do you want anything?”

“Not my ideal wake-up time, I’ve got to say,” he admitted. His stomach gave a nervous flop. “No tea for me, thanks. I was told that I should speak to you about some kind of treatment for Mr Fleur-de-lis. Is it serious?” Lysandre’s full name still sounded alien on his lips.

She gave him a measured look, settling down into her chair and taking a sip of her tea. “Straight to business, I see! Why do you look so concerned, Professor Sycamore?”

He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be concerned? He’s my friend. He’s been in prison for nearly a month and this is the first I’ve seen him in that time.” He gave a shaky laugh. “Can you blame me for being a bit on edge? It’s not like I spend a lot of time in police stations either.”

“He’s your friend, but he also put you in hospital. He put the lives of everyone in the world in serious jeopardy.”

“…he’s not _always_ a complete jerk.”

“So I am led to believe.” She gave him a small smile. The tea was steaming and fogging the edges of her glasses. Sycamore tried not to stare. “I’ve heard that you spoke on his behalf, and that you were friends for a long time.”

“ _Are_ friends. I hope.”

“No hard feelings after all that’s happened?”

Sycamore snorted. “Of course there are hard feelings! He owes me a lot, the idiot. But he’s not much good to anyone unless he gets a chance to admit that.”

“A pragmatic approach.” Dr Carson sat back slightly in her chair, but Sycamore didn’t feel any more at ease around her. She had a naturally predatory air about her, despite the fuzzy jumper. He wondered just how many of his inner thoughts she was reading. 

Couldn’t be that many, he surmised. She’d be running for the hills otherwise.

“Would you say that Mr Fleur-de-lis deserves a second chance?”

He cocked his head curiously. “I wasn’t aware that that was even an option. Is it?”

“If it were possible, would you say so?” she ignored his question.

He nodded slowly. No option but to play her game, it would seem. He wished that he were a more conniving person. This would all be so much simpler. Curse his honest face! “Yeah. Lysandre’s a clever person. A loyal friend. Sharp and determined as anything. One of the most impressive people I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve met a few. Honestly, until that… day… I would never have guessed that he’d had it in him for violence. It was one of the biggest shocks of my life.”

Dr Carson made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. She scribbled a note onto a pad of paper. “You’re not the only one who’s given me that impression. Several of Mr Fleur-de-lis’ previous… compatriots… have come forward and spoken up on his behalf, as well as turning themselves in for arrest.”

“Team Flare has been surrendering?” Sycamore swallowed. That could either be great or terrible news. Who knew what they’d be planning? If the interview with Looker and Officer Jenny had been anything to go by, there were some pretty sinister characters lurking in there. “That’s pretty unexpected. I’d have thought that most of them would be undercover by now, or captured.”

“Many of them were arrested at the scene of the failed doomsday device, as far as I know. Others scattered and remain anonymous, living quietly and trying to put the whole debacle behind them, I imagine. But a few have turned themselves in, apparently with the sole intention of clearing their boss’s name, as well as making reparations for their own wrongdoing.” She peered at him closely. “Why do you think they have been showing such loyalty?”

“You’re the psychiatrist, not me!” Sycamore laughed despite himself. He gave her an easy smile, defaulting to natural charm as best as he could. _Probably not the same reasons as me!_ “You’re the expert here. I’ve never met any Team Flare members, and I’m pretty happy that I’ve kept it that way. I’ve no idea what might be going through their heads. Maybe they’re trying to do something sinister, or maybe they just feel bad for their former boss.”

“Do you deny that there’s a similarity between yourself and them?”

Now _that_ was rude.

“My instinctive reaction is to say no, absolutely no similarities.” He wrinkled his nose. Her gaze was fierce. Suddenly he had a moment of doubt. “But I can see where you might get that impression. I’ve spoken up on his behalf too, after all. I’d like to think that that’s _all_ I have in common with them though. He’s not my boss. I certainly don’t go in for the whole destroy-the-world policy he had going on.”

“You’re also loyal to a fault.”

“His name’s Lysandre.”

“Correct.” The doctor’s voice was firm, but there was a gentle, humorous undercurrent there. Despite himself, Sycamore found himself rather liking her. Had they met under any other circumstances, he might have been impressed with her. Right now though, she was just someone else who could dictate Lysandre’s future, for better or for worse. “Something about this man is very charismatic. He inspires people.”

“…I can’t argue with that. But I have to ask, doctor, why are we discussing this? I mean, it’s not that I mind-” he clarified. “But what is the point, exactly? I know you’ve got doctor-patient confidentiality rules, and probably some kind of fancy civilian-police-doctor-patient rules too, just to make life more confusing. I’m just a Pokémon researcher. What am I needed for here? What can I tell you that no one else can?”

“Hurrying me along are you?” Her voice was teasing. She waved at him pacifyingly as he started to apologise for his brusqueness. “I promise there’s a point. If you want to leave, Professor Sycamore, you are of course free to leave at any time.”

His fingers dug into the couch cushion slightly. “I don’t want to leave. Sorry.”

“It’s no matter.” She dismissed him. “Are you aware that Mr Fleur-de-lis has obtained legal counsel?”

“No, but I’m really relieved to hear it.” And he was. Muscles he didn’t know were tense actually relaxed upon hearing those words. “I thought for a while there that he was going to try and become a martyr. Thanks for talking some sense into him.”

“I can see why you would be concerned,” she agreed drily. “Though I am not able to discuss the particulars of Mr Fleur-de-lis’ treatment sessions with you, I can confirm that your grasp of his condition, as recorded in the police reports, is not unfounded. He was most reluctant to seek the assistance of any legal or medical professionals. Thankfully he is now more open-minded, but is still very firmly of the belief that he must seek out and undergo maximum punishment for his crimes.”

So the depression was a real thing. That was a hollow victory if ever there were one. Sycamore shook his head slowly. “I was afraid of that.”

“In light of these findings, Mr Fleur-de-lis’ legal counsel has put forth a very interesting proposal. In that he is circumventing as many of his client’s wishes as possible.”

“In what way?” Sycamore straightened in his seat. “Can he do that?”

The doctor leaned forward on her elbows, tea abandoned. “If the judge accepts the plea, he will not go to prison. Compulsory psychiatric treatment, combined with community service, in-house arrest, and full confiscation of all property: that’s what Mr Fleur-de-lis’ lawyer has put forward for consideration, instead of jail time.” 

Sycamore didn’t know much about the legal system, but he was fairly sure that that kind of thing wasn’t allowed. “How is that possible?” he asked slowly. “I thought he’d be up for compulsory time behind bars. How does this work?”

“If he goes to court and is found guilty, but also to have been mentally ill at the time of the alleged offences, these will be the penalties he has to pay. Based on my own assessment of your friend, I believe that we could save ourselves a lot of time and just go straight to these. But that’s not how these things go, of course. We’ve got to have the trial first.” Her voice was frank. She watched Sycamore carefully over the top of her glasses. “Court cases are long and expensive. Most of the world thinks that Mr Fleur-de-lis is deceased, killed by the fallout of his own botched terrorist attack. Hardly anyone knows what actually happened. If it is revealed that he is alive, who’s going to be happy with that news? Do you think that anyone will care that he was ill at the time of the alleged offences?”

“Probably not. An eye for an eye, and all that…” Sycamore trailed off. He shuffled on the couch. This felt completely inappropriate. Why was he allowed to discuss Lysandre’s life and sentence with a complete stranger? Such a private person as Lysandre would be furious about such a conversation. Holding it felt like betrayal of the highest order.

Then again, maybe Lysandre should have thought of that before going all murderous on him. 

“Precisely. So, the consensus being reached internally is that it would be best for Mr Fleur-de-lis to cease being a feature. As his doctor, I concur with this theory.”

Sycamore didn’t know what to say. Lysandre’s life was being spelt out for him by a complete stranger. His tongue felt like it had been glued to the roof of his mouth. He nodded like a puppet.

“With your consent, I would like to suggest that Mr Fleur-de-lis be turned over to your custody for the duration of his in-house arrest.”

Something stopped inside Sycamore’s brain. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’m saying, that with your permission, Mr Fleur-de-lis would serve out his in-house arrest in your care and under your supervision, if the judge deems this to be appropriate.”

Sycamore’s head was spinning. “Uh… would that be ok?”

“It’s entirely up to you.” Dr Carson’s face was completely serious. “It is a very difficult thing to do, maintain another individual and supervise their rehabilitation. There would, of course, be support from the officers and myself for the full duration of the term, however long that may be.”

His mouth wasn’t cooperating. He settled for nodding dumbly. 

“You don’t have to make up your mind now. The trial won’t be for another few months at least,” she reassured him. Sycamore’s stomach sank at the thought of Lysandre sitting in a cell for all that time. _I guess he should have thought of that sooner._

“That’s ok… it’s a yes.” His mouth finally came back online. “I don’t know how to do it, but I’ll give it a try. He’d need to stay with me?”

She nodded. “You would need to provide a suitable residence, and it would have to be thoroughly inspected beforehand, not to mention refurbished to accommodate for tracking devices and the like. It would be a very intrusive process.”

“Why am I being nominated for this?” he asked bluntly. “Not to be rude, but this is seriously irregular. Why is it allowed?”

The doctor sighed and removed her glasses. She polished one lens gently between her thumb and forefinger with a soft cloth. “Professor Sycamore, I have treated hundreds of patients in my life. Hundreds. I know the look of someone who needs treatment in a hospital. And I also know the look of someone who needs treatment from being in the outside world. I guarantee that if you let Lysandre have what he wants, which is life behind bars, he’ll retreat into his head and never get better. This is his best chance at making proper reparations for what he’s done. Getting out into the world, taking an active hand in rebuilding what was broken, and helping people – those are the keys to his recovery. We’re not all about punishing people here; rehabilitation where possible is also our goal.”

“But why with me?”

She drummed her fingers against the desk. “That’s where we’re taking a gamble. Even though one of the offences he’s being charged with is your assault, we’re not stupid, Professor Sycamore. If you could have that offence stricken from his record, you would.”

Sycamore opened his mouth and shut it again soundlessly. “I… I’m not _happy_ with what he did to me. But I don’t think it was completely his fault.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The look she was giving him was entirely too knowing. He swallowed and looked away. “In addition, you are literally his only option.”

“In what way?”

“All of his property has been surrendered as part of his reparations. He has no money, no housing, and no material possessions of any kind. He also has no immediate family, nor anyone else willing to come forward and speak on his behalf, aside from members of Team Flare currently also being evaluated.”

Sycamore shook his head slowly. “There’s nowhere else for him to go?”

“Correct. He could be held in a mental health facility, but it’s really not appropriate for him. When his case gets to court, there’s a very high chance that he’ll be allowed to walk free.”

Now _that_ was new information. Sycamore almost choked in surprise. “What did you say?!”

The doctor gave him a slightly furtive look, shuffling in her chair. Her voice was much lower when she spoke next. “Look, when the weapon got destroyed… it took pretty much all the evidence with it. The legendary Pokémon that powered it somehow is also gone. The police can’t prove that it was _actually_ a weapon at all. Mr Fleur-de-lis’ lawyer is arguing that the whole thing was a hoax. There was no end-of-the-world plan. It was a poorly planned PR stunt. Some Team Flare members have offered to sing that story for the jury too.”

Sycamore laughed. “He can’t seriously think that anyone’s going to buy that! We all heard him on the Holocaster!” 

“He’s an incredible lawyer, Professor Sycamore. He can and will make the jury believe it. Your friend paid for the best, when he finally decided to get one. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he’s giving.” She leaned forward, chin resting on the steeple of her fingers. “If he pleads out, he’ll be in your custody. If his lawyer gets what he wants, then he’ll be completely free, minus all his surrendered property. If he gets proven guilty, somehow, then he’s going to be behind bars in a hospital for at least ten years.”

Sycamore released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He sat back in the couch, thankful all of a sudden for its solidness. “So… that’s the big problem,” he said slowly. “That’s why you want me to say yes to this treatment plan.”

“Correct.” She was giving him a piercing look. “What do you say?”

In the end, he wasn’t able to make a decision. Sycamore left the police station when the sun was high in the sky. He pedalled slowly back to the lab, lost in thought.

On the one hand, he could say “yes” and force Lysandre to live with him and recover with him. On the other hand, he could say “no” and run the risk of the man vanishing either back into the world, too ashamed or whatever to confront him or stay in Kalos, or disappearing into the prison system.

Plus, he had the added concern of Lysandre’s own thoughts on the matter to consider: _don’t say yes to the doctor._

The lab was a hive of activity when he arrived. He parked his bike and launched into work. There were three children nervously waiting at the door. New trainers. He greeted them with a broad smile. “Welcome! Come in, come in! You’ve come to the right place.”

Three young trainers walked out not long afterwards with their first Pokémon, and some of Sycamore’s misgivings. Watching trainers meet their first partner still always gave him a thrill. He set about running another scan on Garchomp, humming as he went.

“Sir, how did things go?” Sina interrupted his tuneless droning, perhaps to prevent it from continuing to assault her ears. “How’s Lysandre doing?”

He managed to suppress a flinch. “Oh, fine! All fine.”

“Really? I can’t imagine prison being fine.” She gave him a weird look. He suspected she wanted more details, but he wasn’t going to offer them up. He passed her a set of electrodes and gave her a sunny smile, along with instructions to put them on a Pyroar they’d borrowed for potential Mega Evolution testing. She pulled a face but moved away.

Not long later, she was back and hovering near the doorway to his office while he tried to remember when he’d last paid the lab’s water bill. There was a veritable tsunami of paperwork covering the desk, the floor, and the remains of his sanity.

“Sir, could I speak with you?”

He looked up brightly. “Of course! Come on in, Sina. What can I help you with? Did the Pyroar give you any trouble?”

She gave him a dark look and rubbed a freshly bandaged arm. He winced sympathetically. “Ah, I do apologise, mon amie! That Pyroar is a bit of a feisty one…”

“She’s all settled now, sir. No real damage done.” She gave her arm one last rub, and then fixed him with a haughty stare. “That’s not what I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” He rocked back on his chair. “Do you need more work to do? I’ve a water bill stashed somewhere in this helli- I mean, _wondrous_ mountain of paper. Do you fancy trying to find it for me? I’ve got some more scans to set up.” 

He was up and out of his chair before she could protest, striding across the room with the intention of bowling past her and down to the laboratories. Sadly, his feet were unprepared for the sudden movement and conspired with the paper mountain to take him on an unplanned detour to the floor.

“Professor! Are you ok?”

He groaned. His knee felt like someone had stabbed it. Pulling himself to his feet, he confirmed that someone _had_ stabbed it, namely his letter opener. Sina darted off to find the first aid kit while he pulled the offending item out of his knee and fought back a wave of nausea. _Good grief, I can’t believe I just did that!_

“Here, sir. Keep your leg elevated. I’ve got some bandages and antiseptic here. Did you hurt anything else?”

He gingerly propped his leg up on the desk, sitting back down on his chair. “No, just my pride. I didn’t know I had any left to hurt, but there you go – you learn something new every day!”

“Hold still, sir.” He waved her away.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. ‘Just pass me the med kit and I’ll sort this out.”

“While you do that, could I ask you something?”

Ugh. Trapped. Sycamore closed his eyes painfully. “If you insist.”

“What happened at the police station? You’ve been acting strangely all day.”

“I’m not acting strangely, Sina,” he protested mildly. His trousers had a hole in the knee now. Perfect. He poked his finger through the hole and slathered antiseptic on the wound. Might as well use the new ventilation for something useful.

“It’s not just me that’s noticed,” she informed him primly. “Dexio wanted to ask but he was too scared. I volunteered. Some of the new interns were wondering if you’d had decaf instead of regular coffee today.”

“Why on earth would they think that?”

“Because you’re working on yesterday’s schedule, boss. You’re running tests we did yesterday.”

“What?! Why didn’t you say so!” He dropped the antiseptic tube indignantly. “Goodness, that’s a whole morning’s work wasted!”

“It’s not just that, sir,” she murmured, passing him the tube again. “You’re not acting like your usual self. We’re worried about you. Can you talk to us about it? What can we do for you?”

Sycamore stopped. He accepted the tube mutely from her. A vague sense of shame crept into his brain. “I’m sorry for making you worry,” he said quietly. “I was given a rather difficult choice today. It doesn’t only affect me: potentially it could affect everyone working here as well. I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“Could you talk to me about it?” She looked a bit nervous about the prospect, but grimly offered anyway. Her eyes were stern, but he could see anxiety in the lines on her face. He gave her a gentle smile.

“I appreciate your concern. Unfortunately, the only person I could really discuss this with it behind bars right now. A bit inconsiderate of him, really!”

Sina cocked her head on one side. “Try talking to me then, sir.”

“Me too.” Another voice echoed. Sycamore looked up from contemplating his ruined trousers; Dexio was standing in the doorway. He looked both sheepish and determined. Sycamore looked from one assistant to the other. They looked so _young_ right now. Was he really disturbing them that much?

With a sigh, he stuck a band-aid onto his knee and settled his leg back under the desk. “I’m sorry for making you both worry. I was given a rather difficult decision to make today. In hindsight, I really should have just asked for your input as soon as I got in.”

Dexio moved forward to stand beside Sina. “What do you need, sir?”

“Lysandre might not go to prison. There’s not a lot of evidence about his plans to end the world. He might walk free.”

Sina clamped her hand over her mouth. Dexio looked faintly sick. “Seriously?” she muttered through her fingers. “How could they just let him go?”

“The explosion took out most of the evidence, and Lysandre’s lawyer is good. He might walk free and just vanish. If the lawyer gets it wrong, then Lysandre’s going to be in prison for a very long time.”

Dexio was giving him a funny look. Sycamore tried to return the favour, but only succeeded in the other man giving him a look of pure confusion in return. “Sir, what aren’t you telling us?”

“There’s a third option. Lysandre could do his rehabilitation here.”

Sina’s reaction was immediate. She laughed incredulously. “You’re not serious, professor! Why on earth should he be allowed to come here?”

“Because there’s nowhere else he could realistically go and get better.”

“But he’s a criminal!”

“Not officially. Not yet, at least.” Sycamore shook his head slowly. “They need my permission for the third option to happen.”

Dexio exchanged a look with Sina. He was slightly less incredulous when he spoke. “Professor, can’t you see that it’s not a good idea for him to come here? What if he goes nuts again? He’d have access to a lot of equipment.”

Sina scoffed. “Come on, Dexio, what’s he going to do? Scan the world to death?”

Dexio gave her a scandalised look. “Are you seriously saying you’d want him here?”

“What? No!”

Sycamore sighed. “And there’s the issue!”

They stopped bickering and turned back to him. “Ah…” Comprehension dawned on both faces.

“You… want him to come here, professor?” Dexio hesitated.

“Not at the expense of my research, and not at the cost of my fellow researchers’ happiness.” He smiled wearily. “Plus, Lysandre himself doesn’t want this option.”

Sina blinked. “Lysandre doesn’t want your help?”

“No. He wants to rot in a cell. If he’s not allowed to do that… I’m worried he’ll do something much worse when he’s free. He’s not a healthy man right now. His mind isn’t healed.”

The young researchers in front of him were silent while they took in the new information. Sycamore watched them quietly. 

“Well… if he’s not too distracting…”

Sycamore blinked in astonishment. “Sina?”

Sina shrugged. “It’s not like he’d be interfering with our work, would it? And he’d be under surveillance all the time…”

Dexio nodded slowly. “I’ve met him before. He was scary, but if he’s on his best behaviour, then I guess I could put up with that.”

Sycamore looked between them in amazement. “Honestly? You’d consider putting up with him?”

The two exchanged a look. “Sir, it’s not for his benefit,” Sina explained sternly. “This clearly means a lot to you. If he’s got to be here in order for you to work properly, then I guess that’s how things have to be.”

“But if he takes one step out of line… boom! That’s it.” Dexio added hastily. “No second chances. Is that ok?”

Sycamore nodded slowly. “I… I can’t thank you enough. It takes a lot off my mind knowing that you’d be ok with it.” His head was spinning. The two young trainers gave him matching broad grins. 

“See, sir? You should just talk to us about these things! We’re here to help you out, after all.”

“You should probably break the news to the other interns though, just to be sure,” Sina added hastily. 

“Of course, of course.” He folded his arms and shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “I can’t thank you two enough.”

“Just remember when our Christmas bonus is due,” Dexio reminded him cheekily.

As the two trainers bustled out of the office, Sycamore’s mind settled. He groped for the telephone, buried under a sea of Pokéblock bills. 

Maybe Lysandre wouldn’t forgive his meddling, but at least he had the support of others to back him up.

It was time for someone else to have a god complex, for a change.

He could only hope that he’d survive the process.

 

-

wildfillysama: Sorry about the delay, life got in the way and this was a tricky chapter to write. Thank you for your patience!


	9. Chapter Nine

Sycamore anxiously ran his hands through his hair. His stomach lazily growled. Dinner had been hours ago, but he’d had no appetite for it then. The police station waiting room smelt like bleach and resentment. There were a couple of people sitting on the other side, pointedly ignoring him. If they were there for the same reasons as him, he could understand their reservations.

Dexio had offered to come along for moral support, but he’d turned down the offer. There was no telling how long he’d have to sit and wait. He also had no idea how Lysandre would react. 

He hadn’t spoken to the man in over three months. The police had refused his requests for another meeting, citing case sensitivities. A bizarre claim if ever there were one: no news on Team Flare had made it to the television or newspapers. It was as if the doomsday attempt had just been completely forgotten. What could possibly be the 'sensitivity'? A furious phone call to Dr Carson had only resulted in quiet platitudes. 

“You need to take a step back and let these things take their course. Your request to be considered for a safe house has been considered and needs to be processed. If you associate with Mr Fleur-de-lis too much, your motivations will be called into question. There is more to this case than meets the eye,” she told him sternly. “This is something you need to do for him. Don’t throw the case into jeopardy.”

How his requests to visit Lysandre could possibly jeopardise his future didn’t make any sense to Sycamore. All he could imagine was the other man sitting by himself in the cells, counting down the hours, completely alone. The thought of that brilliant mind wasting away was physically painful. How much of the case could depend on Lysandre being kept in isolation? 

He tried sending along books, writing paper and pens. At least it would be better than nothing. Most of them were turned away by the admin staff, but the officer at the desk was sympathetic at least. 

“You can’t give an inmate anything sensitive,” she informed him. She confiscated the writing materials, but held on to a copy of his most recent Mega Evolution findings. “These look pretty safe. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

It wasn’t much, but he was going to take that opportunity. Every week, he excused himself from the lab for an hour to go and drop off another sheaf of scientific documents. Nothing with any current affairs or ‘sensitive topics’, whatever those may be. Only things that related to his research. Even if he wasn’t allowed to sign them, he hoped that Lysandre would guess their source.

Dr Carson contacted him about his gifts. “You are aware that you have left eight different scientific texts with Mr Fleur-de-lis, Professor Sycamore? Excuse my concern, but those materials are very expensive and you are not likely to have them returned, just so you know. The police cannot be relied upon to ensure full return of any loaned items.”

“I know,” he intoned drily down the phone. Spaghetti was boiling over in the background, but he ignored it. It would surely have plenty of fun on the floor with the rest of the mess. “I figured I could afford to lose a few copies of the damn things. Plus, if Lysandre gets out, I don’t want him to be a complete vegetable. I need his brain working.”

“You intend for him to work for you at the laboratory?” Dr Carson sounded surprised.

“Is that ok? I mean, I know he’s probably already doing some kind of prison labour right now, making license plates or something. I thought that pipetting out chemicals might be mundane enough to count.”

“As long as he is ethically treated and in full agreement with the offer, then that should be fine,” Dr Carson conceded. She sounded slightly mollified. “As a matter of fact, you should add that to your application forms. Valuable work experience will help to reintroduce Mr Fleur-de-lis to normal society. You should make mention of your rehabilitation potential.”

Was it really rehabilitation, or just another way to pawn off unpleasant jobs? 

Actually, the thought of Lysandre having to do all his paperwork for the lab as payment for smacking him over the head was pretty tempting. 

In fact, he’d had to submit more forms than he’d ever known possible for this whole application thing. Background checks on everyone who’d ever breathed in the direction of his laboratory took place. After an entire forest’s worth of paper had been submitted and pored over with a magnifying glass, Sycamore was informed that his labs would now be subject to a search and refit. 

As long as they took out the rubbish while they were there, Sycamore told them that he could care less what they did with the place. 

It couldn’t be any worse than what the constantly-escaping Froakies did, after all.

Officers had pooled into his laboratories and gone through every room, item, and person in painstaking detail. Sina had made a strangled noise and just about leapt out the window with her laptop clutched to her chest when they’d arrived. When he asked her later what that was all about, she sheepishly muttered something about downloading too many movies and thinking that the law was about to come down on her once and for all. He’d had a good laugh at her expense. It had been the first relaxing moment of the entire day.

Halfway into the examination, Officer Jenny had taken him aside and given him a full run-down of what to expect, while the rest of her team examined every inch of the laboratory and its connected apartment.

“This is pretty much an ideal location, Professor Sycamore. You won’t need to worry about us changing very much. We’ll install sensors onto the doors and windows, and rig up a few cameras in the more sensitive areas of the laboratory. We’ll be respecting the privacy of yourself and your employees at all times though.”

“Really? That sounds difficult to achieve in the circumstances!” he’d laughed nervously. “But I suppose if it needs to be done, then it needs to be done…”

“How many people work in the building?” she asked. “I’ll need to speak to each person and let them know their rights in this situation. If anyone complains at any stage, then the terms of Mr Fleur-de-lis’ rehabilitation will have to be revised.”

“I’ve got a staff of nine people, technically, including myself,” he informed her. “I’ll grab their details for you now. Most of them are in right now and have a vague idea of what’s going on. Trust me, if anyone has any problems, I’ll be more than happy to see to them. My employees mean the world to me.”

“Good, that’ll make things easier.” She nodded to his office. “Would you mind showing me around the apartment? You mentioned in your submissions that you technically live here.”

“Yes, that’s true.” He led her to the elevator and pushed for the penthouse. ‘Penthouse’ was a bit of an overstatement. The laboratory building was an older establishment, and prone to flights of overplayed fancy. While most of the floors were given over to laboratory space and habitats for Pokémon, the top floor had been repurposed into a live-in area. Once upon a time, it had had very glamorous furniture and housed a small family of researchers. Nowadays, it housed Professor Sycamore, a lot of dirty dishes, and some questionably tasteful furniture, plus enough dust to scare an archaeologist. 

“Sorry, the lift door’s a bit sticky.” He shoved the last of the door into the recess and waved the police officer through. “It’s fine for the rest of the building but gets a bit temperamental when it gets to this floor. I’ll get it fixed, don’t worry!”

Officer Jenny nodded politely. “Would you mind if I had a look?”

“Bien-sûr! Go right ahead.” Sycamore traipsed ahead, opening doors. “This is the main living area, the kitchen’s over there- bit small, but everything works. That’s my room over there, just beside the bathroom. There are two other rooms, but I just use them for storage. Careful when you go in- I haven’t dusted in… ever.”

He hovered anxiously in the living room while Officer Jenny disappeared into the unused spare rooms. A serious bout of coughing followed, and he winced. Maybe he really should have cleaned the place up a little bit. Dirty dishes were piled on the coffee table. He was suddenly aware of just how shabby the place looked. When had he last painted in here? Did the couch always look so faded?

Surreptitiously, he started piling up some of the plates, wincing when they clacked together. He could hear Officer Jenny swatting at something in the spare room. He hoped it wasn’t another Spinarak. He’d only recently convinced the last colony to move out. Mercifully, no screaming or sounds of a battle broke out, so he figured he’d dodged a bullet.

As he shuffled the plates into the kitchen, he heard the police officer’s muffled speaking on her Holocaster. Craning his ears, he still couldn’t catch much of what was being said. Hopefully it wasn’t an emergency call to pest control. He ran the taps and filled the sink, shovelling most of the detritus on the bench into the warm water. At least he could pass the place off as _mostly_ hygienic now.

“Professor Sycamore, do you have a moment?”

He hurried out of the kitchen, dish-rag in his hands. “Oui, of course! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Officer Jenny’s hat looked a little dustier now than it had earlier. Sycamore hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him. “Would you be averse to buying new furniture for this room over here? We would need a secure space for Mr Fleur-de-lis to be stationed. With your permission, we’d like to convert this one here. A small allowance can be made for his expenses, but not a lot, you understand.”

Sycamore nodded, mouth dry. “Of course, go right ahead! I’ll move my junk out of there immediately. I can get him whatever he needs.”

“There’s no rush, sir. The earliest we’d require the room to be ready is the end of February, so we can do the necessary final checks and preparations ahead of the court date.”

That was only a week away. He could only agree with a cheery tone that didn’t match the rest of his face. After so much time not being able to see the other man, a week seemed like the briefest minute.

He had to wonder, would Lysandre still be the same person after spending more than three months in prison? Was it fair of him to expect that?

Sycamore didn’t know, but he sure as hell could use a drink about now.

Officer Jenny took a load of measurements, and the rest of her team soon congregated in Sycamore’s living space. He sat numbly on the couch, nodding and smiling when it seemed appropriate. They bustled around, taking pictures and thankfully not commenting too loudly about the dusty state of everything.

“I’ll clean it all up, don’t worry,” he kept insisting. “It’s just like this because it’s only me, see. My work tends to get in the way!”

“It’s ok, professor.” Officer Jenny kept reassuring him. “There’s nothing in issue here. Everything’s perfect. We’ll have people round next week to get everything installed. Is that going to be ok?”

Sycamore just kept nodding, not trusting himself to speak. _Please let this all come together…_

He’d kitted out the spare rooms with everything he could think of, but which turned out to not be a lot. Trying to think of what Lysandre would want in his rooms was completely baffling. He ended up with a lot of red. Scarlet bed covers, red curtains, dark wooden desk and a padded red chair, plus a matching dark wood wardrobe. The room felt oddly bare, almost accusing. He emptied a load of old books onto the desk, just to make the place feel a bit more lived-in. It would have to do. Maybe Lysandre would want to make the place his own when he arrived and they could go shopping.

The thought of being able to do something so normal almost made him laugh. 

He may soon have the option. Today was the final day of Lysandre’s court case. Or rather, it was _after_ the final court day. The result had come out. Lysandre was officially in Sycamore’s custody, willingly or not.

Wringing his hands, Sycamore glanced again at his watch. It was still 9pm. The harsh fluorescent lights of the police station waiting room were playing havoc with his eyes. He scrubbed at them wearily. His suit jacket was creased and smelling faintly of sweat from sitting so long. He hadn’t been at the trial, but had hovered around outside the courtroom, just in case Lysandre’s lawyer had needed to call him in. But the quiet formalities of the court had finished without needing him there at all.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to Lysandre about anything. Hadn’t even been able to look him in the eye and say _I have completely ignored your request for self-determination._ You know, small things like that.

How would Lysandre react once they were able to speak? Would he be happy for the assistance, or miserable that his only request had been denied? 

A cold chill in Sycamore’s stomach took up determined residence. _What if he’s not the same person you once knew? What if he resents you after all this, or if all that time to think has changed his mind?_

Ah well, at least he’d soon be completely unrestricted from the other man’s wrath, or indifference. Whichever was worse.

“Professor Augustine Sycamore?” A voice interrupted his morbid train of thought before it could arrive anywhere else. He twitched and shot out of his seat. A police officer waved and caught his attention, and he followed the man over to the barred doors that led to the rest of the station. Another bundle of forms was waiting for him. _Oh joy…_

“Ok sir, I just need you to sign a few things.” 

“Of course! I’m really rather good at it now.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes. Sycamore barely registered what he was signing. He was too busy staring at the figure approaching the doors. It was him.

Lysandre looked irritable. That much hadn’t changed. He was wearing a nondescript grey cotton jumpsuit that looked about as comfortable and flattering as a bin bag. His fussy beard had been completely shaved away. His long red hair had been wedged into an awkward ponytail. His cheekbones, already fairly distinct, were almost gaunt. Sycamore stuttered, almost forgetting how to sign his name. He hastily scribbled down the last few signatures, then hurried over to the door.

His tongue refused to cooperate. “Lys-Lysandre?”

The other man didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on Sycamore’s shoes. The smallest hint of a nod was the only sign that he had even heard him speak.

“It’s all in order now, Professor Sycamore. You’re both free to go. In a manner of speaking.” Dr Carson was at Lysandre’s elbow, Sycamore realised with a start. He hadn’t even noticed her there. “Give me a call if you need anything. I’ll be checking up on a weekly basis either way. I’ll be dropping round at 9am on Sunday. Please be ready to receive me then.”

Lysandre gave her the barest of nods as well. The doors made a buzzing noise and a clunk, then slowly swung open. Sycamore slowly moved aside as Lysandre took his first steps outside the cells and into the waiting room. He could almost see a miniscule amount of relaxation flutter across the man’s shoulders, but it could have been wishful thinking on his part. Lysandre’s face was a stony mask. He was thinner than Sycamore had ever seen him.

Sycamore gave Dr Carson a reassuring smile, more for her benefit than anyone else’s. “Thank you again, doctor. Everything should be in order now.” He gave Lysandre an anxious look. “I can call a taxi... unless you would prefer to walk?”

Something flickered on Lysandre’s face. “… to walk would be preferable.” His voice was dull and raspy with disuse.

Sycamore nodded frantically. “Walk it is then! Let us go, mon ami.”

He shut his eyes. _Damn it all! Why in Kalos’ name did I say that?_

Lysandre’s shoulders hunched even higher and they trooped out of the station, Dr Carson’s gaze boring holes into their backs. Sycamore tried not to look as though he desperately wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

He also tried not to obviously stare at Lysandre. The other man didn’t say a word to him, even when they were no longer within earshot of the police staff. He inhaled deeply as they left the police station, hands in his jumpsuit pockets and eyes firmly on the ground. Sycamore padded alongside him, shooting sidelong glances and trying to think of something to say that wasn’t completely inane.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” 

Lysandre mutely shook his head, long red ponytail swishing. Sycamore tried again. “Is there anything you would like to see before we head back to the lab?”

This time, Lysandre looked up. He caught his eye for the briefest moment. “Not today.”

Sycamore shut up this time. 

The night air was probably a blessed relief from the static, indoor recycled stuff from inside the building. Sycamore subtly stole glances at the other man as they headed for the city centre. The lights were all on, all the way up the dramatic tower. The moon was full and the stars were almost visible through the hazy lights of the city. Lumiose’s streets were no longer cluttered with busy shoppers, but a few individuals were still strolling from the restaurants, lively chatter in the air. Sycamore envied them. The silence didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Augustine, you’re going to wear a hole in your jacket if you keep tugging on it like that.”

“What? Oops!” He dropped the hem of his suit hurriedly. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been anxiously playing with it. “Sorry. I mean- my bad.”

Lysandre didn’t say anything in response to the less than elegant recovery. His eyes were lifted, fixed on the skyscrapers. It must have been too long since he’d last seen the outside world. Had he had a window in his cell?

Sycamore chuckled nervously. “I guess I’m just a bit anxious. It’s been so long, you know?”

No reply. In fairness, it had been a pretty stupid comment. Of course the one who’d been stuck inside a jail cell would know. Sycamore rallied, forcing his voice to steady. “It’s good to see you again. More than good. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. That’s completely your right and your decision to make. Just let me know if you see anything that you want to stop at, or if you need anything, and I’ll sort it out.”

Lysandre’s face flickered slightly, as if stuck between deciding on a response. He nodded once, slowly, but didn’t say anything. Some of the tension around his jaw lessened, but only minutely. Sycamore was going to have to take it as a good sign. Or possibly partial facial paralysis.

The lab was empty when they made it to the door. Sycamore suspected that Sina and Dexio had ushered everyone out early, just to give them a bit of space. He was more than thankful for the thought. He held the door open for Lysandre, hitching up a smile. “Please, come in.”

Lysandre bobbed his head and stepped into the gloom while Sycamore fumbled for the light switch. “The elevator’s straight ahead, please feel free to head in. We’re heading for the top floor.”

Lysandre wordlessly obeyed. Sycamore keyed the ‘penthouse’ button and tried not to noticeably hold his breath as they travelled up to the top of the building. He wasn’t used to situations quite so awkward as this. His natural charm had absolutely no effect on the stoic man. He kept his eyes sadly on the ground. 

“Augustine, the door isn’t opening.”

“What?” He looked up in a hurry. “Oh goodness, not again!”

He nudged the ‘open door’ button, then slammed it. Fingers tried to pry into the gap between the doors, but the mechanism was jammed. “Merde! Not again…”

Lysandre was looking at him at last, but it was with anything other than appreciation. “Not again?”

“I do apologise, mon ami. The door and I… we have a long history together.” He dug into his pocket for a set of keys and stuffed them into the security lock. “Don’t worry, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Messing around with the wiring inside the lift’s service panel didn’t work. Neither did shoving his keys into the gap and trying to jimmy the doors open that way. Pounding on the doors and swearing at them was cathartic, but not terribly helpful. He slowly turned and gave Lysandre a regretful look. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to head down to the next floor. It’s just not going to work. There are couches down there, so it won't be too uncomfortable.”

“Let me see that.” Lysandre took the keys from his unresisting fingers and gently nudged the apologetic professor out of the way. Of course, Lysandre was a genius when it came to complicated circuitry. He'd be able to get this sorted. Why hadn't he just asked him? Sycamore watched as the taller man fiddled with the security panel for a few moments, then made an unimpressed grunting noise. “Augustine, when did you last get this serviced?”

“Ah… I can’t remember.”

“Did you _ever_ get this serviced?”

“Again, I regret that I do not remember, Lysandre. Maybe? I'm going to say there's a very strong _possibility_ that I got it serviced. Once. By accident. Perhaps.”

A sigh. “I cannot fix this, not without the proper tools. _And competent assistance_.”

Lysandre jabbed the button for the next floor down. A sickening clunk came from the doors. He turned and gave Sycamore a dangerous look. “What was that?”

Words failed him. “I… don’t know. It’s never done that before.”

He leaned forward and tried another button. He tried the door buttons. He tried the security panel again. Nothing. No response of any kind.

Or rather, there was a response from Lysandre, but it sounded a lot like someone grinding their teeth and trying to hold back some unpleasant language.

“Does this elevator have an escape hatch?”

He nodded miserably. “Yes, on the top there. But there’s nowhere to go other than up, and nothing past it. No other floors and no escape hatch. The building's old and the architect was stupid.”

“You have tried this before?”

“I have been trapped like this before, yes.”

Lysandre was giving him a positively murderous look now. Sycamore almost missed the blistering indifference. “And what did you do to get out?”

“Ah, it happened during the day, so it didn’t take long for anyone to hear me calling and hammering on the door. The repairman came out and did something and the doors opened. I was trapped for no more than an hour.”

“What precisely did he do?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes slowly. “I am so, _so_ sorry. This is a complete disaster.”

Lysandre exhaled loudly, kneading at his forehead with his fist. “Very well. If that is how it is to be, then that is how it is to be. What resources do you have on your person?”

“Wallet, keys... Holocaster.” He patted down his pockets. "Oh, and a packet of crackers."

“Then we must call the repairman. They do emergency calls at late hours. Do you have his number?”

Sycamore nodded, pulling out the device. He stared at the screen, stomach plummeting. “Uh… there’s a problem.”

Lysandre gave him an affronted look. “What in Kalos’ name have you done to my device?” He snatched the Holocaster out of Sycamore’s hands, and promptly went pale.

“I… forgot to charge it. Looks like the battery gave out while I was in the waiting room.”

He could almost see the cogs turning in Lysandre’s head. “Then, am I to understand that we are trapped here until your employees return to work in the morning?”

“… I said I was sorry before, but I’d really like to say it again.”

Judging by the look on Lysandre’s face, ‘sorry’ wasn’t going to be quite enough to cover it. He could only hope that Dexio and Sina wouldn’t be staging a rescue mission to collect his freshly-murdered body, first thing in the morning.

 

-

wildfillysama: Here’s a quick chapter update to make up for the two really slow ones! Thanks again for all your support, I really appreciate it.


	10. Chapter Ten

_First things first,_ Sycamore told himself, _don’t panic._ Nothing good ever comes from panicking. Lift doors are not well-known for showing remorse or increased levels of open-ness when confronted with human panic, pleading, or other forms of negotiation. In fact, they’re not well-known for much. Other than inopportune malfunctions, that is.

About ten minutes had passed. They were stiff contenders for the longest ten minutes of Sycamore’s life. At the moment only his thesis defence was standing out as the clear winner, but in a few more minutes’ time, he was sure that too would be stripped of its title. Silence had seldom been so poisonous before. 

Lysandre hadn’t said a word to him. He was leaning against the back wall of the lift, lost in thought. Judging by the look on his face, reported back by sneaky looks that Sycamore kept shooting him, they were not good thoughts. 

Sycamore knew, in the back of his head, that they were perfectly safe. Aside from the inconvenience of the whole situation, they weren’t in any real danger. If things got too stuffy, they could pop the escape hatch and let some fresh air in. Mercifully, neither of them was thirsty, hungry, or suffering from any other pressing need. Aside, that is, from the need to get the hell out of there.

Another ten minutes.

Sycamore wanted to pace, but suspected that it would just disturb the other occupant. He’d already done enough of that to last a lifetime. He focused on his breathing. _In and out, in and out, don’t screw this up. You’re going to be fine._

Dexio, ever the early riser, would be in for work well before the others. 9 a.m. start times were for other people, not him. He’d try the lift, realise it was broken, and immediately assume the worst had happened. If they were lucky, they might not make the local news. If they were unlucky, Sycamore would have another “meltdown incident” to deal with. 

Dexio meant well, he really did. It was the main reason why Sycamore kept putting up with his habit of blowing things out of proportion. That and he really wasn’t one to complain about strange habits. After all, he was currently sharing a broken elevator with an attempted genocidal maniac.

“Do you ever wonder if this is what it’s like to be a Pokémon?”

_Arceus damn it, brain!_

Lysandre didn’t say anything. He looked up from the ground fractionally, treating Sycamore to a look that situated him on the evolutionary scale somewhere between ‘pond scum’ and ‘particularly stupid pond scum.’ 

“I mean… trapped inside a small space, unable to come out unless we either get extremely agitated and break it open, or get let out by someone outside? Kind of a funny thought, isn’t it?” 

Judging by the look on Lysandre’s face, the only ‘funny’ thing here was Sycamore’s sense of timing.

“I don’t know… sometimes I wonder if we do the wrong thing by them, keeping them in Pokéballs. I mean, they don’t seem to mind, but what if they’re just putting on a brave face? Maybe I should look into Pokémon endorphin levels when they’re in stasis.”

Lysandre sighed. “Stick to what you’re good at, Professor Sycamore.”

And what would that be? Mega Evolution? Inconveniencing him? Making stupid suggestions? 

The list was endless, and not a small amount passive aggressive. Sycamore shut his mouth and broke his truce on pacing. Serve Lysandre right for being rude. He started moving in a small circle, flexing his stiff knees experimentally.

Shuffling back and forth, even very slowly, across the tinny floor of the elevator turned out to be a bad move. He could feel very small sways as the vibration of his steps reverberated through the floor. His brain chided him for paranoia. _Grow up, Sycamore. The cable is very strong. It’s designed to hold up to ten people at once. It can deal with you gently moving around._

But it didn’t really feel like it. Each sway was magnified. It felt like the whole elevator was swinging back and forth inside the shaft.

What if the cable snapped?

A rush of nausea had him halt. He turned back to the door and eyed it desperately. Was there anything he hadn’t tried? He moved forward, shutting his eyes in an attempt to ignore the swaying of the lift, and shoved his fingers into the gap. Straining and tugging, he hauled as hard as he could.

“Professor, you will break your fingers if you keep that up.”

Lysandre’s quiet voice broke the distressed fog of his brain. Sycamore didn’t retract his fingers. “This is ridiculous, Lysandre. We need to get out of here.”

“I agree. But I do not believe that it should come at the expense of your health.” The voice was stern. Sycamore refused to look round. Between the sickening sway of the lift and Lysandre’s condemnation, he wasn’t sure which one was going to make him snap first. “Sit down.”

And be even closer to the ground? Even closer to the gentle sway of the lift, suspended on a string? He thought not!

“This is my fault, Lysandre. If I need to bruise my hands a little in getting us out, then that’s how it will be. If I could just get it a little wider-” He tugged with all his might. His back ached. His fingers were throbbing. Slowly, the doors shook. With a gasp, he succeeded in peeling the doors maybe a few millimetres apart. He rocked back, exhaling in relief. His stomach lurched as the lift shuddered again at the sudden movement. 

“That’s it. It’s settled. I’m officially getting stairs put in.”

A small snort came from behind him. Sycamore slowly looked around. Lysandre wasn’t exactly smiling, but he wasn’t quite so pinched with anger any more.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Professor,” he reiterated. “There’s no point in hurting yourself on this fool’s errand.”

“Ah, then it is my duty, isn’t it?” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. “I’ve botched something else, and I’d at least like to try and fix it.”

Lysandre gave him a flat look. “What in Arceus’ name are you talking about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He turned away. “Never mind.” He set his fingers back into the gap. 

Lysandre released a massive sigh of frustration. “Sycamore…”

He ignored him. It was that or answer him, and that didn’t seem to be going well either. Sycamore’s fingers shook with effort. The thick door panel was getting slippery with sweat. It took most of his concentration to keep his hands from sliding off. At least there was a little breeze coming through.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lysandre spoke sharply. “You’re not getting that door open. It’s painfully obvious to see.”

“No harm in trying,” he gasped. He readjusted his grip. “If I could just…”

His hand slipped. The door bounced back, snapping on his exposed fingers. With a yelp, he hastily extracted them and clutched them tightly to his chest. _“Merde, merde, merde!”_

“What did you do?” Lysandre sounded bored, but Sycamore felt him take a step closer. The lift lurched under Sycamore’s feet. He shut his eyes to try and block out the twin sensations, neither of which he particularly enjoyed. “Sycamore, are you injured or not?”

“Does it matter?” he muttered. “It’s not like anything more can be done in here.”

“Don’t be childish,” Lysandre replied crisply. “Is your hand injured or not?”

He unclenched his fingers. They were sore, but not grievously so. “Just bruised. The door has a hell of a snap to it.” He hitched a smile to his face. “Who’d have thought? Alas, I fear there’s really nothing more I can do to get us out of here! It seems that you were right after all.”

“We covered that already, Sycamore.” Lysandre was definitely giving him a funny look now. “What’s wrong? You’re behaving very peculiarly.”

Aside from the obvious? That they were trapped in a problem of his own design, and he was trying very hard not to be sick from self-induced paranoia and motion sickness combined? Who wouldn’t be acting strangely in such a situation? He grimaced. “Nothing much. I’ll be fine.”

The look he was receiving was now equal parts incredulous and unimpressed. At least it was back to normal.

Shaking out his hands, Sycamore shuffled carefully to the left side of the elevator. “There’s not much we can do. Might be best if we tried sleeping. It’ll at least pass the time.”

Lysandre didn’t say anything. Sycamore lowered himself gingerly to the thin nylon carpet. The metal wall was cold and unyielding against his back. He was sure he’d slept in worse places before, but he’d usually had at least a few bottles of wine to cushion the feeling. This really was a terrible evening.

He shut his eyes, but sleep evaded him. The overhead light burned through the gap between his eyelids. Lysandre’s steady breathing, far from being a comfort, was a constant reminder of just what he had put the other man through, and was continuing to force on him even now. Disregarding his wishes, putting him in this situation… could he be any worse?

A cold, nasty thought pushed itself to the front of his brain. _Lysandre just spent the last few months in a cell, and now you’ve gotten him trapped in another one._ His eyes flew open.

“I’m so, so sorry!” He sat up in a panic and turned to Lysandre. “It just occurred to me… goodness, I really can’t apologise enough!”

“What?” Lysandre jerked alert, looking completely bewildered. His hair was slightly mussed, and his legs were crossed, seated against the back wall. Unlike Sycamore, it looked like he had actually managed to get a bit of rest in those brief moments. “What in blazes are you on about this time? What have you done?”

“I just… I realised how awful this must be for you. It’s another confined space, I mean. I didn’t mean to put you through this. Not after you’ve spent so long being locked up.” He shook his head frantically. “If there’s anything I can do to make this up to you, please just tell me!”

Lysandre’s face slackened in surprise. “Sycamore… why would you think that?”

He couldn’t formulate an answer. He just kept staring at the other man hopelessly. His mouth fell open, then shut again. Lysandre’s expressions were making a mysterious progression across his face, flinching into something that looked like… pity? That couldn’t be right.

“Sycamore, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed miserably. 

Lysandre swallowed. He seemed to hesitate before he spoke. “You don’t need to worry about me. As you said, I have been in a confined space for much of the last few months. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t sit in another for a short time. I’m actually rather used to it now.”

“Oh.” Sycamore blinked. “So… you’re not too stressed? This isn’t giving you some kind of traumatic reaction? 

“I think the only one having one of those is you, Sycamore.” Lysandre said wryly. “You don’t look well.”

Sycamore coughed to clear his throat. “Can’t you feel the lift sway? It’s very disturbing.”

Lysandre shook his head slowly. “We’re pretty still here, Sycamore. You should keep your mind off it.”

He laughed shakily. “Bien-sûr! Of course I should! I’ll keep trying. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“Your silence is far more disturbing than your rambling,” Lysandre said quietly.

Sycamore paused. “Did I do the wrong thing?”

“In what context?”

“Saying that you could stay here.”

Lysandre didn’t reply. His pale face looked even paler, his lips thin as he pursed them. Sycamore’s stomach sank.

“I didn’t want to go against your wishes,” he said. He was quietly impressed that his voice was only slightly shaky. The adrenalin and nerves, bundled up from the claustrophobia, were playing merry havoc on his tone. “I didn’t set out to go against what you wanted. I know that you don’t have much control over your life when you’re in prison, and I know that what small control you could exercise would mean a lot to you. But I still went against that and agreed to the treatment plan. And I made it so you had to stay here. I couldn’t even check with you to make sure that was ok. I just need to know… was that the wrong thing to do?”

“I don’t grasp what you mean by ‘wrong’,” Lysandre growled. “Were you wrong to disregard my wishes? Certainly. Were you wrong to invite me into your home, when I am a convicted felon, who assaulted you and deprived you of freedom? Absolutely. Were you wrong in your thinking that these things were necessary? But of course. They were not necessary. You could have walked away any time, Professor Sycamore.”

He looked up in surprise. “What did you say?”

Lysandre looked exhausted. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Sycamore pushed himself up onto his knees, then rocked back onto his heels to better look at the other man. The elevator’s gut-turning movements were less important now. “Did you tell me to refuse your treatment, just to make me leave?” 

“I would not presume to ‘make you’ do anything,” Lysandre grumbled. “I told you to refuse the treatment because I knew that it would absorb much of your time and energy, as well as your freedom. I would not make myself any more of a burden on you than I already have proven to be. It was not much of a choice on my part, but it was still one that I could make.”

“Only you were making a choice for me, and without my consent,” Sycamore pointed out. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “So much for me feeling bad! You were trying to do exactly the same thing for me! And here was me feeling like a terrible person for disregarding your wishes.”

“That is completely unnecessary.” Lysandre locked eyes with him. He looked so tired, and so wary. It ached for Sycamore to recognise his closest friend underneath all those layers of concern. “You have done nothing to be ashamed about. I, on the other hand, have done nothing but bring you pain. I am… deeply uncomfortable about imposing myself on you like this.”

Sycamore couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “Oh Lysandre, you can’t be serious! You’re sitting here, trapped on the floor of my ridiculous elevator, and you’re apologising for inconveniencing _me_?”

“You wouldn’t be in here if you hadn’t been at the police station on my behalf,” Lysandre reminded him. There was a bit of a flush to his cheeks now though.

“Lysandre, I’d probably still be in this elevator. I’d just be trapped by myself and without the benefit of your highly confusing and aggravating company!”

“You speak of it so well…” he muttered. Sycamore didn’t care so much about the disgruntled look on Lysandre’s face. He was still too busy processing the fact that the other man didn’t actually despise him. 

“I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course. However that works,” Sycamore admonished him. “Tell me, Lysandre, how have you been holding up all this time? Did you get the books I sent?”

“I did.” He nodded slowly. “They came at odd intervals, and they wouldn’t tell me who sent them. Not that I needed them to, of course. You have three typos in one of your papers, for the record. The one on Mega Stones and Moon Stones as comparisons.”

“What? Damn it all! I knew I shouldn’t have had quite so much coffee during that one.”

“Either way, it made for an enjoyable interlude in an otherwise monotonous period of time.” Lysandre’s face was wistful. “I spent much time reflecting. On my own actions, and on those of my organisation. It was… difficult. I didn’t have much of an appetite for much of that time.”

“And now?” Sycamore asked carefully. “I didn’t want to mention it, but you don’t look very well.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Somewhat better.”

“Good… that is… good to hear.” Actually it was a massive relief, but he didn’t want to come across as too clingy.

“And you? How has your life been?” Lysandre looked particularly tense now. “I have been somewhat deprived of information of late.”

“Me? Oh, same as ever! Writing, researching… I’ve three papers coming out next month. And one of my students is now the Pokémon League champion, if you can believe it! Serena. The one you… met.”

Lysandre nodded slowly, his face grave. “That does not surprise me in the slightest. She is a phenomenal trainer. I have never seen her like before.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Sycamore shook his head. “I wonder at her myself. She’s still very young though. I’m a little worried about her doing so much in such a short space of time. I think the world’s going to get a bit too small for her at this rate. Chances are she’ll be stopping by in the future.”

Lysandre looked a little paler at that. “I will… endeavour not to be a distraction to her.”

“She knows you’re alive, for the record.” He said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know if the other kids do, but I hope she told them. I didn’t think it wise to let her labour under the idea that you were gone. Most people don’t know where you are or if you still live, you know.”

“Truly?” Lysandre’s face quirked. “That may be for the best.” 

“If you think you’re hiding in my spare room for the rest of your life, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

Lysandre huffed, but there was no vigour to it. “Hiding is not what I intend to do. I am no wounded Pokémon, hiding in a cave to lick my wounds. I will be making amends for what I have done, by applying my mind to better causes.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sycamore’s face relaxed into its first true smile in a long time. “I’m happy to help you out with that.”

A brief silence lapsed. Lysandre, much to Sycamore's surprise, was the first to breach it. "How... how is your head these days?"

"My head?" He patted the back of his head experimentally. "No brain damage, if that's what you're getting at. I had a hell of a bump on it though. There's still a dent."

Lysandre blanched. "What?" He sounded as sick as he looked. "I... Sycamore... I didn't mean for that to happen!"

He waved it off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I figured as much."

Lysandre's shame-stricken face rose and his eyes made contact with his. "Do you mind if I...?" He gestured with one hand hesitantly, as if afraid of getting bitten.

"What? Oh..." Sycamore could feel his cheeks burning. "I don't see why not."

He gingerly shuffled over to the other man, settling down in front of him and turning his head. He buried his fingers into his hair, feeling for the ridge. "It's just here. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt any more."

He retracted his fingers as Lysandre raised his own. His eyes slowly fell shut as the other man's hand wove its way into his hair. Careful fingers probed the surface of his scalp, slowly finding the mark left by whatever-the-hell he'd been hit with. Lysandre's fingertips were warm and soft, massaging the offended area with absolute gentleness. Sycamore felt himself sagging forwards, relaxing into the contact. Lysandre made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and his other hand joined the one buried in Sycamore's hair. At that, Sycamore gave up. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead onto the other man's shoulder.

"Found it?" he asked, voice only slightly breathless with relaxation.

"I have," Lysandre muttered. "And I am extremely ashamed." The fingers didn't stop moving, shifting across his head and tugging gently on his hair. It was incredibly soothing. Sycamore's legs were turning into jelly, or that could just be the awkward angle he was leaning on cutting off the circulation. Either way, he wasn't going anywhere.

"Yeah, I'm going to let you have that one." Sycamore replied. "I was throwing up for days, thanks to that little bump. Whatever did you hit me with?"

"My visor."

"I knew I hated that thing the moment I saw it."

"Your thoughts were not misplaced." Lysandre's voice was reverberating through him. Sycamore sighed and brought his own hands up, resting them on Lysandre's shoulders and regretfully lifting his head.

"Are you ok with this?" he asked gently. "You can tell me if you're not."

Lysandre's pupils were dilated. His lips were pursed, set in a grim line. "Augustine, that's a ridiculous question to ask, and I'll thank you not to ask it again." The hands shifted from his head and were now set about his shoulders, fingers digging in almost painfully tightly. "I have missed you so much."

"The feeling is more than mutual, Lysandre." Sycamore closed the gap, gently brushing his lips against the other man's and then pulling back, eyes closely surveying his reaction. It was instantaneous. Lysandre's fingers twitched, arms contracting and pulling Sycamore forward. He slipped off balance, knees giving out under the combined lack of circulation and sudden reassignment of gravity. Lysandre shifted somehow to prevent him from faceplanting directly onto the elevator floor, chuckling as he did. _Another moment of true elegance, nicely done._ Lysandre drew him in, close against his chest. His eyes were lidded, but something had changed. Some of the anxiety seemed to have shifted. Sycamore couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Augustine, I don't deserve you. Not even for a moment."

"Agreed. In a moment I could probably split your lip, if I slip like that again. Seems a bit unfair, really."

He received an exasperated look in return. "You're right, you ridiculous man."

"Seems we make an even pair, in that case."

Lysandre didn't have anything to say to that. He just quirked an eyebrow and tugged Sycamore back in, lips eagerly seeking his out. 

This time, Sycamore was pleased to note, he didn't slip at all. 

When they broke for air, Lysandre's face was more flushed and full of life than Sycamore had seen it in months. He wrapped his arms around the other man's neck, leaning in until Lysandre was forced to shift. Their bodies tangled awkwardly. Now Sycamore was more or less supported by the taller man's legs, tucked against his chest. The floor of an elevator was definitely not the best place for all this. 

"No offence Lysandre, but my back is killing me."

"Likewise." With a small chuckle, the two shuffled until neither were complaining of joint ache.

"What it would be like to be young again..." Sycamore mused aloud. "I don't remember my knees or my back ever getting so stiff and useless."

"You should have spent less time at your desk," Lysandre reprimanded him. He was now sitting with his back against the same wall, arm over his shoulders and other hand firmly grasping Sycamore's own. The contact was such a rush. Sycamore couldn't keep the silly grin off his face.

"I think you're right. I'm going to be in no state to work tomorrow, not after spending a night like this. My bones need more comfort than a metal floor."

"Your bones need to stop complaining and try to get some rest."

Sycamore had to agree with that. He also agreed in advance to paying for the therapy of anyone who may happen to get the door open, if they were still asleep by the time it happened. He could be considerate sometimes.

 

-

wildfillysama: Getting there... more to come! Thanks for reading.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Predictably enough, it was Dexio who sounded the alarm early the next morning.

Sycamore woke to the not-terribly subtle sound of his young assistant battering on the ground-floor elevator door and shouting up into the empty shaft. “PROFESSOR! ARE YOU OK?”

The echoing was atrocious. He clutched at his ears and tried to suppress a groan. Lysandre made no such effort.

Before Sycamore could even try to formulate a response, a loud banging resounded all around the elevator shaft. It sounded like Dexio was bashing a sack full of cans against the interior, whatever good that may do. “PROFESSOR, DON’T PANIC! I’M GOING TO GET SOME HELP!”

“Some earplugs wouldn’t go astray either…” Sycamore muttered to himself, shaking his head in an attempt to stop his ears from ringing. Dexio’s racket receded and Sycamore guessed that the young man had raced off to make good on his promises. Or possibly had just deafened himself into the bargain and was rolling around the floor. Either one would work for him.

But no, “panic” wasn’t going to happen, despite Dexio’s concerns. It was far too early in the morning for that. Sycamore hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to run to a proper panic, especially not when their rescue was only moments away. Or at least, not _too_ far away. He wasn’t going to get too specific, not with Lysandre around to get offended by his inaccuracy. Speaking of which…

Shifting himself awkwardly, Sycamore cringed as his joints reminded him that sleeping on the floor was generally not a good way to spend the night. His spine felt like someone had balled it up and then shaken it back out again like an old shirt. Even in his young and stupid days of college drinking he had usually made a point of at least making it to a vaguely padded surface before passing out. This was simply not acceptable.

As his brain slowly kicked back into life, Sycamore blinked, scrubbing at his eyes. Then he became aware that the ground wasn’t all that hard after all. Also, it was breathing.

There was small drool patch on Lysandre’s shirt, right in the middle of his stomach, which Sycamore had apparently converted into a pillow at some point during the night. The other man was somehow continuing to sleep, despite Dexio’s rescue screeching. He was completely stretched out on the floor of the lift, face looking younger than it had in a while. Or at least, slightly less stressed. If anyone could look stressed or stern while sleeping, Sycamore had suspected it would be Lysandre. He was somewhat pleasantly surprised to be wrong in this case. 

Carefully detangling his arms and legs from their slightly trapped locations under Lysandre’s own, Sycamore shifted to a sitting-up position, yawning broadly. _Good grief, neither of us is a particularly elegant sleeper after all. Who’d have known?_ His stomach growled. He was desperate for a cup of coffee and a shower, and possibly the least mouldy of the cereals. He remembered with a pang of regret that he had left some food out on the bench, on the off-chance that Lysandre might have wanted to eat when they’d gotten in last night. Now it would probably be off, or possibly full of Spinarak.

“PROFESSOR! WHERE’S THE NUMBER FOR THE REPAIR GUY?”

Ugh. He really needed to get some soundproof wallpaper or something for the inside of the elevator shaft. This was getting ridiculous. Gingerly shuffling over to the edge of the lift, Sycamore peered through the thin gap between the two doors. For a moment, he hesitated. Should he shout and disturb Lysandre? The other man looked so peaceful.

That being said, if he didn’t shout and ended up having them stuck in here for ages, Lysandre certainly wouldn’t be quite so peaceful any more. He was going to have to shatter the silence too.

“CHECK MY SPARE DESK!”

“I DID! I CAN’T FIND ANYTHING!”

“ME NEITHER! IT’S IN THERE SOMEWHERE!”

The shouting derailed into a kind of muffled grousing, and Dexio presumably wandered off in search of the technician’s number. Hopefully this time with a shovel and a torch, and any other heavy equipment that might help him to sort through the piles of paper, dirty dishes and other remains of the fallen that covered Sycamore’s spare desk. 

Sycamore turned back to Lysandre, noting with some slight guilt but also a touch of amusement that the other man had flinched awake. He was looking around blankly, hair sticking out at all angles, coming unstuck from its ponytail. He sat up and blinked at Sycamore, for a moment looking completely dumbfounded. Then he groaned and laid back down on the floor. “Alas. This hasn’t all been a particularly annoying dream after all.”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Sycamore replied pertly. “Ready to get rescued?”

“If the rescue involves hot water and a soft chair, then certainly. Otherwise, I’ll thank you to leave me to my misery.” With that, Lysandre turned over to face the opposite wall. There was no venom to his words, but also a definite lack of morning-person. Sycamore was left wondering how he couldn’t have seen it coming.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Lysandre. We’re about to be rescued! It’s a time for celebration, or at the very least for sitting up.”

“Until I hear progressive movement and sounds that indicate our immediate departure, I intend to continue sleeping.”

“That was impressively eloquent for someone with his face pressed into an elevator carpet.”

“Augustine, don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

Sycamore shut his mouth. After all, Lysandre was fresh out of prison. No point in getting him sent back there in less than twelve hours. Although that would be an impressive turn of events.

He amused himself with peering through the crack between the elevator doors. The lift was badly made enough that he could almost see all the way down to the bottom of the elevator shaft, if he twisted his neck on just the right angle. He seriously needed to replace this thing.

“PROFESSOR, IT’S NOT IN THERE!”

Sycamore cringed. “THEN IT’S PROBABLY IN MY OTHER DESK!”

“YOU MEAN THE ONE ON THE NEXT FLOOR?”

“YES! YOU’LL HAVE TO CLIMB UP THE FIRE ESCAPE!”

Now he _definitely_ could hear cursing. Dexio didn’t dignify him with an answer, but silence fell and Sycamore hoped that he was making his way to the fire escape, rather than blessed unemployment.

“What is wrong with the fire escape?” Lysandre’s voice still sounded mostly asleep, but at least he had moved on from complete hostility. Considering the circumstances, Sycamore was going to take that as a blessing.

“Not much… but there might be a few Pokémon living on it.”

“Might be?” The look on Lysandre’s face could probably be flatter, but it would have been a medical miracle.

“I’m almost 110 per cent sure. Murkrow. They’re so uncommon around these parts! I couldn’t just ask them to leave now, could I? Plus Dexio’s not a fan of heights. Gets a bit anxious in high places. The fire escape should be safe enough though… if he remembers to take some snacks with him.” He paused and scratched his chin. “Probably should have reminded him, come to think about it.”

“Remind me never to become one of your employees, Augustine.”

“Hey! Starting today that’s more or less what you’re going to be.”

Lysandre opened his mouth, then shut it again with a click and a frown that had Sycamore wondering what on earth had happened to his sense of self-preservation. Why in Arceus’ name had he said that? To his relief, the other man didn’t make an issue out of it.

“In that case, I shall be the first of your employees to start a union.”

Sycamore scoffed, half in amusement and half in relief. “I’d like to see that happen!”

“Be careful what you wish for, Augustine.”

They sat in more or less companionable silence, waiting for Dexio’s return. Sycamore hoped that the young man hadn’t fallen off the ladder while doing battle with the Murkrow. It would be such a shame to have to add yet another apology present to his Christmas list. Sycamore yawned, bored. Lysandre seemed to be nodding off again. Apparently the man was a genius at falling asleep in otherwise uncomfortable locations. Sycamore kept his jealousy to himself. 

About an hour later, much to Sycamore’s relief, the elevator doors were pried open. Lysandre, unruffled as ever, was already standing and looking unfairly pristine for someone fresh out of prison and recently trapped in an elevator. Sycamore, conversely, was pretty sure that he looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge.

“Dexio! Thank you so much, mon ami! We owe our freedom to your quick thinking.” He strode out the lift with a grin, nodding as well to the repairman. “Sir, how much do we owe you for your amazing efforts?”

The repairman gave him a pitying look. “Professor Sycamore, this whole thing’s going to need to be redone. It’s a death trap. I’m amazed no one got hurt. The whole circuitry’s completely dead.”

“Really? Ah.” He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve got the budget for a new lift a this stage.”

Lysandre shuffled awkwardly at his side. Sycamore gave him a curious look. The pale man’s face looked grim, even apologetic for a moment. What was that about?

“Never mind… these things can’t be helped!” He hitched a grin onto his face. “Please do whatever work needs to be done. I will adjust the budget right now and make sure that we can do this.”

The repairman didn’t look too convinced, but nodded slowly anyway. He headed for the fire escape and Dexio took the opportunity to round on the professor.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were trapped?”

“Dead Holocaster, sorry.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry about that! Looks like no work can get done today. I’ll put everyone on paid leave until the elevator’s fixed. Not sure how long that’ll take, but I’ll charge the Holocaster and let everyone know. Are you ok with that?”

Dexio rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s downstairs already. Work should’ve started hours ago.”

“Then I’ll take them all out for morning tea to make up for it.” Sycamore sighed. Today just kept getting more and more expensive.

“What about…?” Dexio’s glance slid to Sycamore’s left and he realised with a start that he’d almost forgotten the other man.

“Oh… Lysandre, would you like to come out with the lab for morning tea?”

The other man looked severely uncomfortable, and Sycamore immediately regretted the question. “Or actually, I’m not sure if that’s allowed yet, is it?”

Lysandre looked away, and Dexio took a half-step backwards. “Don’t worry, Professor. I’ll take care of everything downstairs. I’ll take everyone out and tell them what’s going on. You look so tired anyway. I don’t think you’re fit for going out.”

Sycamore hitched up a smile. “You’re too kind, Dexio. Here-” He pushed his wallet towards the young man. “Just bring it back in mostly one piece when you’re done.” 

The young trainer hesitated, glanced towards Lysandre for a moment, and then nodded. “Ok, Professor. I’ll be back later. Take care of yourself, ok?”

As he turned and noticeably steeled himself before heading down the fire escape to join the repairman on the ground floor, Sycamore exhaled sadly. _Looks like it’ll be instant noodles for a while…_ He waited until Dexio had vanished before gently closing the balcony door. The broken latch meant that anyone who needed to come in could, and those who wanted to break in at least needn’t break a window.

He turned back to Lysandre and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about all that. Here, your room’s this way. The bathroom’s right down the hall next to it. I’ll get you some towels.”

Lysandre was still standing there, giving him a bizarre look as he walked away though. Sycamore decided to ignore it. It was far too early for this kind of behaviour. He extracted some clean (and only slightly dusty) towels out of the linen cupboard and thrust them into the other man’s arms, ignoring his stutter of surprise. “Come on, you can have the shower first. I’ll pull together some breakfast. Feel free to come out whenever you want to eat.” He paused. “Oh yeah, another thing-”

He hurried over to the spare room and pulled a key, dangling on the end of a Pokéball keychain, out of its lock. He gravely handed it to the other man. “This is for you. You can lock it whenever you want, put anything you want in there; I don’t mind. The other key on there is for the building. I know I’m not meant to give you one, but hell… if I can’t trust you with a key, I really shouldn’t be trusting you with my access to my couch, fridge, or toothbrush either.” 

Lysandre’s incredulous look narrowed into simple disbelief, and then into a sigh. He gently accepted the keys, fingers brushing Sycamore’s own. “Augustine… once again, I am at a loss for words. But thank you for your concern. And you need not be worried. I will do nothing to damage your property.”

“Good. I mean, it’d probably take me a while to notice if you did, in fairness, and I’d probably think it was me that broke it, but that’s still good to know.”

Still looking a bit confused with the universe and all that Sycamore contributed to it, Lysandre padded over to the spare room, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. The door clipped shut shortly afterwards. Sycamore lingered, staring like an idiot, before catching himself.

 _Best to leave him to his own devices for a bit._ It was probably a lot for the other man to take in, after all.

Sycamore, however, had no such luxury. After a quick freshen up in the bathroom, he scaled the fire escape to the next floor down to feed the Pokémon housed there. The collection of starters, waiting for new trainers to come and meet them, milled around excitedly in their separate room. He dodged their playful attacks more or less with ease, filled their bowls, and hurried out again. _I had better make sure that I let in any new trainers today. There were meant to be what, five of them? That room’s getting awfully crowded._ The rooms were pristine miniature habitats for their residents, but Sycamore still felt bad about keeping the Pokémon held up in there for any longer than was really necessary. After all, they should be out exploring the world with trainers of their own, not lounging around, trashing the curtains, and eating a fortune in premium Pokéblocks.

He bumped into the repairman on his way back up the fire escape. Thankfully, it was not in the literal sense and neither enjoyed a brief and unpleasant trip straight to the ground floor. “Hello, sir! How does it look?”

“Not good, Professor.” The repairman wiped the sweat off his brow grimly. “The whole interior needs to be refurbished, and that cable’s out of warranty. You’re going to need to redo the whole thing, and that’s not going to come cheap. You said you’re on a tight budget, and quite frankly, this is going to be very expensive.”

Sycamore sighed. “How much just to take the whole thing out? I’ll look into getting stairs.”

The repairman looked affronted. “This is a heritage building, Professor! You can’t go ripping out the original fixtures like that. It’d be an outrage.”

“No stairs? Only an expensive new lift? I see how my life works.” He hitched up a smile he really didn’t feel. “Ah well. Please, write me an invoice and commence the work. I’ll give you the first payment tomorrow and discuss any other changes that need to be made. Does that sound ok?”

Mercifully, it did. The repairman left to go and collect some more advanced tools, and Sycamore returned upstairs to go and pour some caffeine straight into his bloodstream.

Lysandre’s door was still shut when he strode into the living room. As he wandered past the bathroom door however, the damp floor revealed that the other man had been out and showered since he’d been downstairs. _Don’t pressure him, Sycamore,_ he chided himself. _He’s had a very stressful time of it recently. Just leave him to do whatever he needs to do._

Still, it was odd having Lysandre in the house and not speaking to him. He'd never really spent time with him and not dedicated all of his attention to the man. It felt a bit peculiar, to say the least.

Lysandre had never actually been to his house before. Sure, he’d been to the labs and the ground floor frequently, but they’d never really spent much time inside the building. A few cups of tea in the lobby, or in Sycamore’s office, pawned off as an apology for making him wait while a few experiments ran overtime really didn’t count. Maybe he was feeling a bit taken aback by the revelation that the pristine lab had nothing to do with Sycamore’s taste in décor and everything to do with his assistants’ finicky precision with keeping their workspaces clean.

He really should have redecorated. Maybe all of his terribly out-dated furniture was making the other man feel out of place or uncomfortable.

Or maybe Sycamore should really go and get some proper sleep.

Sycamore wasn’t too sure when it happened, but when he next became aware of his surroundings, the sunlight was considerably more orange and he appeared to be covered with a blanket.

Blinking and shuffling slightly, he frowned. He glanced around. It was definitely his living room, but there was something different about it.

Then it hit him: the comforting layers of old paper and recycling that hadn’t been taken out were gone.

He twitched off the blanket and looked around. Yep, it was true: every single misplaced coffee cup had been recovered His coffee table had been dusted and the papers on it piled in a more orderly fashion. There was a plate – a _clean_ one – perched near him with a few pieces of fruit on it. He prodded the nearest apple in fascination. Since when had he owned a fruit platter? 

He padded through to the kitchen, a noticed yet more signs of either Lysandre's commitment to hygiene, or the world's most considerate burglar. The dishes were clean and had been put away in more or less the correct places. The floor looked like it had been mopped. Sycamore shook his head quietly. Somehow he'd always imagined Lysandre as the kind of person to have staff to do his cleaning for him. Try as he might, he couldn't quite picture the intimidating man wielding a mop or trying to reason with the contents of Sycamore's sink.

"Ah, are you feeling better?"

He whirled around. Lysandre was standing in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt and trousers that Sycamore had left for him in the wardrobe. Miraculously, they weren't too bad a fit. There was a look of vague concern on his face. "You were passed out on the couch, so I tried to help out a little."

"A little?" he laughed. "Lysandre, I don't think I've seen this place so clean since the day I moved in! You didn't have to do this."

Lysandre scowled at him. "If I can't earn my keep here, then I'm just making a nuisance of myself."

"You're not obliged to do anything other than get well," Sycamore retorted. "Don't bite off more than you can chew! Trust me, cleaning this place is definitely in that category. You're not an employee, Lysandre. I was joking when I said that earlier."

"I'm aware of that." The other man's blue-grey eyes looked cautious. "Are you uncomfortable with my movements around your apartment?"

"What? No. It's not like I've got anything too suss in here." He looked around dismissively. "Except the freezer. Seriously. Don't go looking for food in there. I kept some old experiments and they kind of... fused... to the sides."

Lysandre gave him yet another flat look. He must be running out of them at this rate. "A new fridge, perhaps?"

"One day... but not in the near future. Got to get a new lift first. Oh yeah-" he grinned broadly. "I was meaning to ask you if you wanted anything else for your room? I know it's a bit spartan, but I figured you might want to pick out some things for yourself. Plus, I know you told me not to bother with your old stuff, but I did manage to get a few things put aside. I'll need to go and pick them up from the police lockers tomorrow."

Lysandre stiffened, his face worried. "That won't be necessary."

"Why not? They're your things."

He cleared his throat loudly. "They belong to the world now. I should not own anything until I've paid off my debt to society."

"That's a load of rubbish. I gave you some of that stuff. The world doesn't want that weird little music box I found you in the Couriway Town gift shop. Quite frankly, I don't think _anyone_ wants that weird little gift box..."

"Augustine..." There was a nerve pulsing on Lysandre's forehead now, if Sycamore's eyes weren't mistaken. "You are too generous. Please, do not worry about me."

"I agreed to help you out, Lysandre. This was my idea... mostly. I'm not going to short-change you."

"I don't think that's in your nature at all," Lysandre muttered softly. There was a note of something else in there that Sycamore couldn't quite place. He shook his head. 

"It's up to you, Lysandre. I'm not going to force anything on you. But seriously - don't feel obliged to do anything. If you need something, just tell me. I'll make it happen."

Lysandre rolled his eyes. "How do you propose to do that when you probably can't afford to eat? Your 'assistant' hasn't come back with your wallet either. That was a ridiculous gesture to make. Why in Kalos' name would you give him all of your money when you know you've got a massive bill about to come in?"

"I can manage. It won't be easy, but I'll get there." He shrugged it off with a soft smile. "If it comes to it, I'll petition the Pokémon League for another grant. They retracted their last one early, but they seemed sorry about it. Maybe they'd be more likely to say yes if I told them that I'm friends with Diantha."

At the mention of the former League Champion's name, Lysandre's face darkened and Sycamore had to bite back a sigh. "Or Serena. She's the current champion after all. I'm sure she'd put in a good word for the lab."

Lysandre looked away, and Sycamore seized the chance to change the subject. "Right, dinner! What would you like?"

It turned out that getting an answer out of Lysandre was going to be the hardest event for the night. Lips sealed on the subject of food, presumably because he was convinced that Sycamore was living below the poverty line (a joke if ever there were one), Sycamore threw his hands in the air and sent the other man out of the kitchen. "Fine! You'll eat whatever I make, right? Don't say I didn't warn you..."

Maybe he was a little unfair to make Lysandre worry so much, but honestly, he wasn't going to put up with this level of awkwardness for long. Not in his house. Not with this man.

A bowl of spaghetti carbonara was accepted with great delicacy by Lysandre, perched on the edge of the couch as though not sure if he was allowed to be there.

"Sorry there's no dining table," Sycamore apologised around a forkful of spaghetti. "I did have one, once upon a time, but the legs broke."

"How did you manage that?"

"Too much paperwork on top. No, don't laugh - it's true." He settled down on the couch next to the other man, noticing with quite satisfaction that Lysandre's spine started to get a little less rigid. He twirled the spaghetti around his fork. "Let me know if you don't like it. I can make other stuff. Not well, mind, but I can try."

"I'm sure it's delicious, Augustine."

"You say that now, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Lysandre took an experimental bite of pasta, and failed to die from food poisoning. Sycamore was willing to count that as a success. They sat in companionable silence as the sunset filled the room.

"I don't think Dexio's coming back," Sycamore said conversationally, scraping the bottom of his bowl. "I get the feeling he realised that my wallet had all my savings in it and he's just cut his losses and run."

"It would not surprise me, Augustine."

"Sure, you can say that, being a self-made millionaire and all that." He gave the other man a grin, watching as he bristled but then realised that it was a joke rather than a condemnation.

"No longer a millionaire, I'm afraid, otherwise I would have bought you a new lift today, if only to ensure that I need not sleep on the floor of it ever again."

"Keep that thought, Lysandre. Feel free to make yourself a millionaire again and make good on it!" he laughed as he downed the last of his dinner. "Looks like it'll just be the two of us working the labs tomorrow. I can't really ask the rest of the team to climb up and down the fire escape all day. If you're not keen on it either, you're welcome to skip out. But somehow I suspect that if I left you alone in here for too long I'd come back to find it re-wallpapered or something."

"You mean that's wallpaper?" Lysandre stared at the walls, aghast. "I assumed it was some kind of mould."

"Ouch. Rude."

"Not rude, Augustine - an educated guess. I haven't known anyone to ever choose such a shade of pestilence to adorn their walls before."

"Your education doesn't make you any less offensive." he chuckled and grabbed the other man's plate. "Speaking of offensive, I'll do the dishes this time."

It was strange, but somehow this kind of weird domestic arrangement was kind of working for him. 

Sycamore's research had always dominated much of his time, leaving most other things to happen on the fringes of his life. He had shared a home with a few previous partners, but never for very long. It was all very companionable, of course - they'd always gone their separate ways on amiable terms. But Lysandre was different, somehow. He both did and didn't feel like he should be comfortable in this situation, doing normal everyday things. But he really, really wanted to be.

This was going to be an awfully confusing time. But hopefully with fewer concussions involved.

 

-  
wildfillysama: Sorry about the delay - work ate my life for a while, but hoping to be back with regular updates now. Thank you so much for your patience and feedback! I really appreciate it :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

There was something distinctly odd about sharing a flat with Lysandre.

It wasn’t that the other man was noisy, intrusive, or messy. No, those categories were all covered very neatly by Sycamore himself, thank you very much. Rather, he had never spent so much time living with someone so conspicuously inconspicuous. The door to the spare room was consistently closed. Sycamore didn’t pry behind it. It struck him as a bit odd that someone who’d spent most of the last few months stuck in a cell would even want to have a door closed. But that wasn’t exactly his decision to make. 

Despite his protests that Sycamore was too poor to afford anything other than the barest essentials for survival, the next morning Sycamore had successfully coerced him into sitting down in front of the computer and browsing through a series of webshops.

“I’m serious, Lysandre. If you don’t pick out some stuff, I’m going to get it for you. And trust me, you’ve been lucky so far that nothing in that room is fluorescent.”

Lysandre gave him an exasperated look. “The items from police storage are more than sufficient. I don’t have any other requirements.”

“Bullshit. I saw what was in those boxes. A couple of pairs of trousers and a few paintings are not going to cover this. Don’t you want a computer of your own? Some tools or books?” He paused, scratching his head for a moment. “Do you have any secret hobbies you want to tell me about?”

“Trying to reason with you doesn’t count, I assume?” Lysandre raised an eyebrow at him and Sycamore treated him to a mock glare.

“That’s not a hobby, that’s an exercise in futility.” He shoved the keyboard closer to Lysandre’s hands. “Go on. Just find what you want. And don’t worry about the funding for it… the police said they’d put a little bit of money towards your rehab. So you’ve got a little bit of spending power.”

Lysandre was now giving him a look that could have melted concrete. Sycamore looked away and pulled up a website. “There, this stuff looks your kind of thing, right?”

Lysandre still wasn’t looking at the screen. Sycamore sighed, lifted his hands in submission, and stepped away. “Fine! If you don’t want anything, you don’t need to get anything. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

“Augustine.” 

Sycamore stopped. “What?”

Lysandre’s voice was hesitant. “I don’t want to be a burden. The stipend that’s been provided for me is not generous. It should only be spent on essentials. I don’t need material possessions beyond what has been provided for me.”

“You might not need them, but I want you to have them,” Sycamore replied firmly. “This isn’t something I’m going to give up on.”

“Why?” Lysandre looked completely mystified when Sycamore finally turned to face him. The other man still looked slightly foreign to him, dressed in a plain grey tracksuit with his hair tied back. He wasn’t his old self – which was perhaps a mercy, in some ways – but at least he was talking again.

“I don’t think it’s up to you to punish yourself,” he said firmly. He settled back down onto the edge of the desk. “Not getting yourself things that you need isn’t going to help anyone. I want you to make a clean start, but that doesn’t mean you have to start with absolutely nothing.”

Lysandre looked away. “I wouldn’t say that I have _nothing_.” 

Sycamore nodded. “True, but you know what I mean.” He reached out and gently patted the other man’s shoulder. “Do this for me?”

It was a low blow and he knew it. Lysandre’s gaze returned to him and was now equally torn between exasperation and affection, which was more or less where Sycamore wanted it.

“Fine.”

It was a victory, and no one could tell him otherwise.

While Lysandre grumbled and painstakingly pored over the computer, probably looking for the cheapest possible way of pacifying Sycamore’s concerns, the professor himself focused on making the fire escape a little easier to use for day-to-day climbing. The addition of a few cut-up rubber mats on the rungs of the ladder made slipping to his death less of a daily concern. The resident Murkow were provided with a feeding platform, in the form of a tray glued to the railing and liberally stocked with snacks. It seemed to be keeping their swooping down to a minimum.

Downstairs in the lab proper, Sycamore moved between each room with a slight air of confusion. The place was surreally silent without his team there, bustling between each experiment. The analysis machines were in their service cycles, making the most of the time off. Garchomp was snoozing on the couch. He didn’t disturb her. 

Dexio had shown up early that morning, nursing a slight hangover and a sheepish expression, bearing Sycamore’s rather unhealthy wallet.

“Sorry I took so long to come back, professor,” he mumbled. He was looking a little green around the edges. “Turns out it was Sasha’s birthday, so we all took her for champagne and cake.”

Sycamore groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot that! I’ll have to send her some flowers. Thanks for taking care of everything yesterday.” He gingerly accepted his painfully light wallet. Ah well. Some things are more important than instant noodles. “I don’t have an ETA for the new lift, and I really can’t risk letting people climb that fire escape every day. If you want to come in and do some paperwork on the ground floor, you’re welcome to.”

Dexio gave him a look as if he had just bitten a particularly aggressive lemon. “Uh… I actually have some other work to do, professor. I’ll come back when the experiments can run again. Does that sound ok?”

Sycamore nodded with a wry smile. “I can’t say I blame you! I’ll send out an email and let everyone else know what’s going on.”

“Are you going to be able to get the lift up and running soon, professor?” Dexio looked a little anxious now, not just sick. “I know that funding isn’t exactly big around here.”

“Is everyone here convinced that I’m broke? Relax!” he laughed and gave the young man a gentle shove towards the door. “Go and take a break. I’ll let you know when I need you back at the grindstone.”

Dexio had left, taking Sycamore’s easy grin with him. As the door slipped shut, Sycamore frowned. 

His budget wasn’t going to cover this. Not by a long shot. He needed to think of something.

Pulling through the piles of bills, Sycamore finally got around to shovelling the paid ones out, letting the unpaid ones stack up with resentful abandon. He committed one desk to those that desperately needed paid, and those that were less likely to demand one of his kidneys as reparations. After about forty minutes of stacking and glaring, he had most of them sorted out.

In short, he was screwed.

In long, he was broke and screwed.

It was rather annoying to have to admit to everyone else around him that they’d been right. Best to avoid it at all costs.

Sycamore picked up his Holocaster, rolling the device back and forth between his hands. An idea slowly started to form. Quashing a momentary flash of guilt, he flicked open the device and tacked in one of the top numbers.

“Diantha? Hi, it’s Augustine. Is this a bad time?”

On the other screen, the pristine actress blinked and then smiled broadly. “Of course not, Augustine! It’s a pleasure to see you again. How have you been keeping?”

He grinned back at her. “Ah, the usual! Experiments, the like… haven’t had to hand out medals to children for saving the world in a while, so that’s a bonus at least.”

She winced sympathetically. “Yes… that was the last time we spoke, wasn’t it? Doesn’t seem so long ago.”

He hesitated. “How is life treating you right now?”

“Rather well,” she fidgeted with her Mega Pendent. “Your student Serena is the League Champion, so that means I get rather more time off. Since she’s still travelling, I have to stand in for most of her battles, which is fine – but it does mean that I can commit time to my other work. I’m writing a screenplay right now. Would you like to meet up for drinks some time and read it?” 

“That would be superb!” He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I also have something I’d like to ask you. Nothing difficult, I promise! I just need to pitch an idea to you.”

She blinked curiously. “I’m intrigued! Can it wait, or would you like to meet up now?”

“Is now possible?” He released a short burst of laughter. “I’m not working at the moment, so now would actually be great, if you can make it!”

“Not working?” Her curiosity flickered straight into concern. “Augustine, that doesn’t sound like you at all. Are you well?”

“It’s been a complicated time. Probably easiest to explain in person. I’m sorry that I haven’t contacted you sooner, to be honest.” His fingers tightened slightly on the Holocaster. He kept the smile firmly in place. “Where would be easiest for you to meet me?”

“Lunch would be perfect. Sushi High Roller sound good to you? Don’t worry about bringing a team. I’ll stand in for any battles that come up. The staff will make an exception.”

Sycamore nodded. “Perfect. I’ll meet you there soon.”

The call ended and he released a breath he didn’t realise that he’d been holding. 

Traipsing back up the fire escape to his apartment, he entered the living room to observe two things. Firstly, that Lysandre was no longer at the computer, and secondly that the door to the spare room was open. 

He padded over the open door, peering around curiously. “How did it go?”

Lysandre was seated at the desk, skimming over a copy of Sycamore’s thesis, much to his amusement. He gave him a flat look. “I have ordered a few items. Nothing too extravagant.” _But enough to get you off my back about it_ hung unsaid in the air. Sycamore gave him a broad smile in thanks.

“Excellent! Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I need to go out for a while. Will you be ok to fend for yourself?”

Lysandre blinked slowly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Seemed like the right thing to ask?”

Lysandre snorted and turned back to his book. “Off you go, Augustine.”

Feeling more than a little dismissed, Sycamore turned to leave, then spied the highlighter in Lysandre’s hands. “Hey! I don’t need you to mark every single mistake in that thesis, for the record!”

“Consider it a charitable effort on my behalf.”

“For that, I’m not bringing you back any leftovers.”

“You’re going to lunch?” Lysandre gave him an odd look. Sycamore hesitated. 

“Yes. I’m meeting up with Diantha.”

The look on Lysandre’s face wasn’t quite a full on storm, but it was definitely burgeoning in that direction. His teeth gritted slightly and he looked away. “I hope that the two of you enjoy your lunch.”

Sycamore rolled his eyes. “Bien-sûr! Would you like to come along?”

“No.”

“Very well. Would you like to stay in this room and sulk?”

“Leave, Augustine.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

And neither was the resounding silence, punctuated by the occasional page turn. Sycamore threw his hands up and stalked into the room. He grabbed the back of the desk chair and spun it around, forcing Lysandre to look up at him. He dropped both hands onto the man’s shoulders. “Lysandre, seriously?”

The taller man, temporarily shorter thanks to the chair, had the decency to look ashamed under the full scrutiny of Sycamore’s reproachful stare.

Sycamore sighed, shifting one hand to cup under Lysandre’s chin. “Don’t ignore me like that, please?”

Blue eyes flicked up and met his stare at last. Lysandre’s mouth moving, as if he were biting the inside of his cheek. “My apologies.” His voice was stiff, but didn’t sound any less sincere for it.

“You don’t have to apologise to me,” Sycamore admonished gently. “You just have to keep talking to me. It’s not so hard, is it?”

Lysandre lifted his own hands in answer, knotting them into the professor’s hair. “You should brush this before you go out,” he muttered. “It looks like you lost a fight with a hedge.”

“Damn it! I knew I’d forgotten something this morning.”

“Ridiculous man.” Lysandre gently tugged him forwards, and he allowed himself to follow the movement. Forehead pressed against Lysandre’s own, he couldn’t keep the silly grin off his face.

“Takes one to know one. You sure that you don’t want to come along?”

“Does she know anything about what’s happened?” Lysandre’s voice rumbled all the way through him. “I don’t think I particularly want to be the travelling freak show at the moment.”

“I don’t think she does,” Sycamore conceded. His free hand shifted to stroke Lysandre’s cheek. “I want to let her know what’s going on. She’s a good friend, Lysandre. To both of us. And I think she might be able to help with the lab’s problems.”

“You’re going to ask her for money?” Lysandre’s eyes widened in disbelief. Sycamore laughed and straightened up, releasing his grip on the other man. 

“What? No! Don’t be silly. I’m going to talk to her about arranging a fundraiser. She’s got a screenplay in the works and this could work out well for both of us. Do you think you’d be up to joining in with something like that?”

“A high profile fundraiser?” Lysandre treated him to a dismissive sniff and rolled his eyes. “What could be more appealing for someone just out of prison?”

“I don’t mean like that. I can think of something where you can be involved but not _that_ involved, if you don’t want to be. I just need to do some brainstorming, not to mention see if Diantha’s up for it in the first place.” He took one of Lysandre’s hands in his own, squeezing gently. “Does that soothe your over-anxious nerves?”

“Go to your lunch.” There was no venom in it this time. Sycamore released his hand with a grin. “I’ll see you later.”

Before clambering back down the fire escape and into the streets of Lumiose, Sycamore ensured that his hair did not look like an escaped hedgehog. He grabbed his wallet, winced at its limited contents, and headed off for Diantha’s restaurant of choice.

He didn’t bother to bring any of his Pokémon along. The battle standards at Sushi High Roller were far beyond what he could hope to match. There was no point in stepping in and getting them all beaten up between courses. Diantha would surely enjoy herself though. Maybe should would loan him a Pokémon from her own team, if the staff decided to get snooty.

Unwilling to spend what little money he still had on a taxi, he walked there. As he arrived, he spotted the distinctive camouflage of the former Pokémon League champion. Someone should really mention to her that a long white trench coat dress really doesn’t hide her at all in a crowd. There were already a few gawkers milling around. Cameras were flashing. All at once, Sycamore was _extremely_ grateful that Lysandre had refused to join them.

“Diantha! Sorry I’m late! It’s a bit further away than I remembered…” He trailed off as some of the crowd turned to him. A stray flash made his eyes water. 

“Not at all, Augustine. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Diantha turned her beatific gaze away from the nearest camera and gave him a quick smile. “Shall we go inside?” She turned back to the crowd and gave them her thanks. Ushering Sycamore inside, the two slipped past the throng of curious watchers and into the warmth of the restaurant.

“Sorry about that,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I like this place because most people can’t get in to stare. They can mob me outside, but at least they can’t get a picture of me stuffing my face!”

“I can imagine!” He chuckled. “That would be quite a cover for the tabloids! _Pokémon League Champion Eats Food Just Like the Rest of Us_. Fancy that!”

“You’d be surprised,” she muttered. The head waiter approached and she turned a sunny smile on him. “My usual table, please.”

As she predicted, no one said a word to Sycamore. Diantha was the star patron, and no one was about to question her choices in dining partner. Sycamore noticed a coffee stain on his lab coat sleeve just as they sat down. He tried to surreptitiously twist the fabric around to hide it on the tablecloth. Drat. A waiter came to take their order, and he judiciously picked the cheapest things on the menu. Even those still made him cringe. 

“So, what’s been going on?” Diantha leaned forward inquisitorially. “You’ve been off the radar for months, and that’s coming from me!”

“It’s been a complicated time, that’s for sure!” He ran a hand through his hair, then mentally chided himself for it. _Focus!_ “The lab’s been under the weather in terms of funding, so I’ve had to send everyone on leave. Plus I got trapped in the elevator the other night. Whole place is falling apart, if I’m going to be honest.”

“Trapped in the elevator? That must have been scary.” Diantha winced as she sipped on her water. “Haven’t had that happen to me, but some of the scenes I’ve had to act have been a bit claustrophobic. There was that scene in a cage… I still shudder to remember that one.”

“Oui, understandable!” He gulped down some of his own water. Why in Arceus’ name was he so anxious? “Also, I’ve been… helping Lysandre.”

Diantha’s eyes narrowed and she straightened up. “Oh yes. I was wondering about him. I didn’t hear the results of the case. It doesn’t seem to have been on the news. What was the verdict?”

“He’s been sentenced to rehabilitation and lost everything he owns.”

Diantha wrinkled her nose. “Not sure how I feel about that. If someone tries to destroy the world, I don’t know if they necessarily deserve to join in with it afterwards.”

“He wasn’t well,” Sycamore sighed. “Psychiatrist said as much. He’s better now, or at least, he’s better than he was.”

“You were there when he tried to end it all, weren’t you?” Diantha asked softly. She turned and smiled, nodding at the waiter as he brought their entrees. Sycamore picked at his plate mulishly. 

“Yes. It was a confusing time for everyone. But especially for him, I think. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not truly. He didn’t go through with the plan, even though all the pieces were lined up and ready to go. If you ask me, it was really more of a cry for help.”

“Just a shame he made everyone panic while doing it,” commented Diantha darkly as she picked up the first piece of her tuna sushi. “Still…” she trailed off as she popped the morsel into her mouth. “You’re the one who knows him best. If anyone knows what should be done with him, I’d ask you first.” 

“It’s kind of funny you should say that.”

“In what way?” 

“He’s doing his rehab at my lab. He’s living with me.”

Diantha gave him a very careful look and took a slow sip of water. She cleared her throat. “Augustine? Are you serious?”

“Very…” he chuckled sheepishly. “He’s not a bad flatmate, if I’m honest! A lot cleaner than me, that’s for sure. He wants to make amends, but he’s really unsure about how to go about it. I’m going to get him to help out around the lab, but it’s probably not going to be enough for him. He’s got a bit of a complex about it.”

“I’m not going to call you insane, Augustine, because you’re my friend and that’s generally not what friends do to each other, but I am going to tell you that you’re living dangerously.”

He frowned. “In what way?”

She sighed, pushing away her empty plate. “He’s not a man who does things in half measures. If he’s decided that he wants to make reparations, then he’s going to go for it. You’re not going to be getting much sleep from now on, I suspect.” She paused, giving him a funny look. “Why in Kalos’ name has your face gone so red?”

“Has it?” He choked down some water. “No reason at all!”

“Anyway… was there anything else that you needed to tell me? You’ve been sitting on a few big secrets for a while, by the sounds of things.” She gave him a stern look and pointed her fork at him. “What’s going on?”

“Right now? Nothing. Aside from that, there’s nothing else new to say.” _She’s going to get you for this one day, Augustine._ “But there was something that I’d like to ask you.”

“I dread to think!” There was no malice in her words. She gave him a cheeky smile and drained the rest of her glass. “Go for it.”

“How would you like to team up and throw a fundraiser? I need to raise money for the lab really rather desperately, and you’ve got a new screenplay to promote… everyone likes a good party, so how about it? Would you be interested?”

Diantha’s face lit up with pleasure, earrings glinting in the restaurant’s soft light. “That would be perfect! You’ve never done a fundraiser event, have you?”

“No, but I’ve been invited to enough of them that I kind of know what to expect.” He laughed nervously. “Fancy clothes, fancy food, speeches that I assume are fancy too but I never seem to hear them?”

“Got it in one,” she muttered. The next course arrived and the two paused to thank the waiters. Sycamore looked down at the beautiful vegetarian platter and immediately decided not to eat all of it. Lysandre would probably like something other than toast for dinner, and since this meal cost more than the week’s food budget, he might as well share it out. He speared a piece of roast capsicum and chewed slowly.

“You should invite Serena,” Diantha spoke up. She looked thoughtful. “She’d be a good draw for people. You could even ask her to do an exhibition match. I’m sure people would pay for raffle tickets for the chance to battle her. Do you think she’d be up for it?”

“She’s a generous person. If she’s in the area, she might drop by some time. I’m sure I could get her a gift that would make it worth her while.” He rubbed his chin, considering. “I can present a few of my latest findings as well. That might be enough to get some of the research community involved.”

“Excellent! We’ve got a target market.” Diantha relaxed back in her chair. She gave Sycamore a gentle smile. “This is going to be fun, Augustine. We really should have done something like this sooner.”

He found himself agreeing. What could go wrong?

Perhaps he should have thought about that one a little longer.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The next few days were surreal with a side of loud DIY in the background. The lift technician came round every day, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Sycamore tried to avoid eye contact. The ground floor of the lab looked like a bomb had gone off in it. There was no way that any regular work could get done.

To make matters worse, the contents of his bank account could only cover an hour of labour per day. He was seriously considering taking up battling, just to try and wring a few extra coins out of passing children. But each time he steeled himself. _Let’s not do something you’d regret, Augustine. You’re a researcher, not a trainer. Also, that sounds more than a tad unethical, or at the very least unsporting._

Although sometimes it still was tempting to convert. Garchomp would probably enjoy the variety. However, the lack of testing did mean that she was able to go and spend some time foraging around and relaxing at the Pokémon daycare. Sycamore tried not to think about the bill for when he had to go and collect her. At least one of them was enjoying herself during this whole debacle.

Honestly, if anyone had ever told him that being an adult was so _Arceus-damned expensive,_ he might have considered not growing up.

“I heard you’re doing some fancy party, Professor.” The technician greeted him as he returned to the lab. A bunch of children had met him outside to receive their first Pokémon. He felt a bit like a corner dealer handing them out that way, but it was better than none of them getting anything.

“Yes, mon ami! That is correct.” He grinned cheerily, discreetly wringing out the water gun from his shirt. Another excitable Froakie with an equally excitable trainer. What were the odds?

“It’s not going to be held here, is it?” The repairman asked suspiciously. “There’s no way this lift is going to be up and running in time for that kind of traffic. Especially not at… this rate.”

“Mais certainement! Of course. Don’t worry at all, my good man. We won’t be holding any parties here for a while.” He sighed. “My apologies again about the funding issues. I sincerely appreciate your efforts.”

“Where is it going to be held?”

He smiled. “You would like a free ticket, yes? It’s going to be held at the Lumiose Gym. Diantha has made the arrangements already. The whole building will be decked out for the occasion. It should be spectacular!”

The technician smiled sheepishly. “Two tickets, please?”

“But of course.” He excused himself and traipsed up the fire escape. At least he’d contributed to the guest list a little. As he crested the top floor, he could see Lysandre examining something on his desk. He hurried through to meet him.

“Did I miss something while I was gone?”

The scarlet-haired man leapt as though scalded, gave him a dark look, and stepped away from the desk abruptly. Sycamore watched him curiously. 

“You’re allowed to look through my papers, you know. You don’t need to ask or feel bad about looking. It’s not like I’ve got anything super sensitive. Or anything that I’d worry about you seeing.” He cocked his head to one side absent-mindedly. “Are you ok?”

“Just fine.” Lysandre snapped. “It is no matter. I had thought to arrange your desk into something approaching order, but I see now that it is a cause beyond hope.”

“You’re probably right.” He waved vaguely in the air. “But by all means, please feel free to try! Cup of tea?” He wandered towards the kitchen, pretending not to notice Lysandre’s lingering tension, or his lack of response. A cup of tea would be thrust upon him, whether he wanted it or not.

He still wondered what Lysandre was thinking most of the time. 

Lysandre could still be described as the oddest person that Sycamore had ever had for a roommate. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of pointing this out to the man himself just the other night. It hadn’t gone down too well.

“Did you know that I’ve never met anyone who washes their dishes before they’ve finished using them?” he observed conversationally, lounging against the doorway while Lysandre did just that. “All my previous roommates would just wait til they’d finished eating before they’d wash up. Sometimes days after finishing. You’re an odd one, you know.”

A slight flinch. The other man continued scrubbing the saucepan, not looking up. Even tinned spaghetti - the last meagre offering that his pantry had to give - could be made to look expensive with Lysandre’s ministrations. Sycamore was sure that he didn’t own any herbs. Lysandre seemed to have magicked them out of nothing. Or had possibly grown them on the wallpaper. The waiting dinner plate was resplendent, and now thanks to the man’s fastidiousness, so were his dirty dishes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone through detergent so fast. Possibly during that unfortunate incident with the Grimers, a few years back.

“While we’re on the topic, you don’t have to keep your towels in your room, you know? You can just leave them to dry in the bathroom. There’s plenty of space for them to hang up. You don’t need to hoard them in with you.”

“I would prefer not to leave mess everywhere.” Lysandre had muttered, pushing past the professor with his plate. 

“Why not? It would have plenty of company.” Sycamore had padded after him conversationally. “You don’t need to be so concerned! A little mess doesn’t bother me. You should make yourself at home.”

“I’ve noticed. And I don’t mean to intrude any more than is absolutely necessary.” The retort wasn’t quite a snarl, but Lysandre had then turned abruptly into his own room and shut the door with decisive force. Sycamore had been left standing in the hallway, blinking in shock. _What was that all about?_ He had eventually walked away, stung. 

Whatever Lysandre wanted, it didn’t seem to include his presence, no matter how helpful it may have wanted to be. 

Back in the kitchen, Sycamore set the kettle to boil and picked out what Lysandre seemed to have claimed as his preferred cup. Surprisingly, it wasn’t red. Not even even _slightly_ red. It had a pattern of water-coloured daisies around the rim, and had been given to Sycamore by some forgotten acquaintance ages ago. He chucked in the last of the tea bags and dug out his own mug from under the greasy layer of soapy water in the sink, where it had been languishing for some time.

When he came wandering out again with two steaming mugs, Lysandre appeared to have vanished back into his room. He knocked on the door. “I’ve got your tea.”

No response. “I’ll just sit it at the door for when you want it. Please don’t forget it’s there and stand in it.”

Still no response. He sighed, padding away with a burgeoning sense of concern. _Should I call the police psych? Maybe he needs to talk to someone other than me. He doesn’t seem to want to do that very much right now._

Sycamore settled himself down at his desk, flicking to the top of the pile of bills. Nothing caught his eye. Or at least, nothing that may have also intrigued Lysandre. 

Perhaps Lysandre just wasn’t used to living with someone else? Cabin fever might have set in for him already.

The water bill was tossed onto the wastepaper basket (not _into_ ; it was much too full for that). He wondered if it would be worth setting up timeslots, so the other man could have a little extra time and space to himself, if constant interaction was getting to him. He could probably remember to follow a roster, if it came to it. Or was the other man just getting bored?

At least the new computer had arrived and been set up in his room. Lysandre had some way of engaging with the outside world on his own terms that way. 

Was he maybe homesick?

Sycamore had never really asked about Lysandre’s home life, back when things were… less complicated. They’d both always been more interested in discussing the happenings of the day, or their research. Now Sycamore found himself wondering more and more about the little details they’d never bothered covering. Had Lysandre always lived alone? Did he have cleaning staff? If he did, then why was he so good at cleaning himself? Was there something missing from Sycamore’s flat that he really wanted?

The obvious answer was to ask the man himself. The more obvious answer was to leave him alone and avoid getting his head bitten off for disturbing him.

Sycamore shoved the power bill onto the keyboard and prodded the computer into life. He should be able to pay it all off at once. Hopefully. A quick glance at the lab’s bank account had him wincing again. _Or not!_

Diantha’s fundraiser really couldn’t come soon enough. With a sigh he pushed the bill to one side, scribbled “DO NOT THROW OUT, IDIOT” on the top of it, and tried to forget all about it.

Mercifully, the phone rang.

“Professor Sycamore?” An unfamiliar male voice sounded on the other end of the receiver.

“That’s me!” He chirped. “And who might you be?”

“We have met before. You know me as Looker.”

The name rang a bell, and then connected. “Oh! Of course. How can I help you, Looker?”

“Are you able to meet with me at this time?”

He shrugged as he replied. “I am not terribly occupied at the moment, so I don’t see why not. Where would you like to meet?”

“I will come to you. I will be at your door in ten minutes.” The call dropped as suddenly as it began. Sycamore set down the phone slowly.

Was this day just a series of events being sent to confuse him? If so: mission accomplished.

He trotted back over to Lysandre’s door. “Lysandre? Just thought you’d like to know that there’s an agent from the police coming over.”

The door was thrown open in an instant. Lysandre’s glowering face appeared behind it. Sycamore took a small step backwards, frowning. “Lysandre, are you feeling alright?”

“What’s an agent doing, coming here?” He rumbled. The look on his face was unnervingly close to betrayal. “Did you call for him?”

“No, I just answered the phone to him.” Sycamore replied wryly. “I don’t know what he wants, but he says he’ll be here in about ten minutes. I figure it must be something important. Do you want to talk to him, or would you prefer that I tell him to leave you alone?”

Lysandre gave him a careful look. He seemed to be relaxing a little, but his face was still pale with anger. “I don’t care to speak to anyone right now.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Lysandre paused. “It doesn’t concern you. You need not dwell on the matter.”

“Seriously, Lysandre?” Sycamore sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to speak to me? That’s your choice. But don’t think for a second that it doesn’t concern me.”

The other man looked away, down at the ground. A lump rose in Sycamore’s chest.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked softly. “Don’t worry if you are. Just tell me. We can figure it out.”

Lysandre looked up as if he’d just been slapped. “That’s not… not what this is about, Augustine!” he hissed fiercely. He took a step forward, clamping down onto the other man’s shoulders and dragging him in for a stiff hug. Sycamore let himself be pulled forward, wrapping his arms around the broader man’s torso in relief. He buried his face into Lysandre’s shirt, inhaling deeply.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied quietly, slightly muffled by the shirt. “Anything you want to tell me, or need to tell me? Or might be able to tell me one day?”

He felt the nod, and pulled back a little to look Lysandre in the eye. It was a relief to actually get eye contact again.

“It has not been easy to sit idle in your home while you run yourself ragged, trying to make ends meet,” Lysandre muttered. His eyes were clouded, mouth down-turned. Even his hair was drooping. “The skills I have… are slow to mature.”

“What does that even mean?” Sycamore queried, mouth quirking. “Slow to mature? Don’t be so harsh on yourself; you’re not that immature, my dear Lysandre!”

There, that was a much more reassuring glare. Lysandre tightened his grip threateningly, but softened almost immediately afterwards. “I have been working on an idea for paying my way here at the lab.”

Sycamore rolled his eyes. “I keep telling you that that’s not necessary. Once the lift is fixed and work resumes, you can help me out with the experiments. In the meantime, don’t worry! You do more than enough to help me out around the place. In fact, I’ve never seen it so clean. It’s a little unnerving.”

“Cleaning your apartment might seem unnecessary to you, but I find it soothing. It keeps me from dwelling on the fact that I am only a burden to you financially at this time.” Lysandre growled. “I have a project in mind that will change this fact.”

“Forgive me for being a little concerned about your mention of any life-changing projects, Lysandre, but what exactly are you talking about?” Sycamore asked carefully. 

A flash of annoyance on Lysandre’s face was soon replaced with a look of smooth confidence. “A new invention. A successor to the Holocaster. With an improved battery life.” He gave Sycamore a flat look which made the man scoff.

“Seriously? That’s incredible, Lysandre! It’s such a pristine device though; what could you possibly be adding to it?”

“I won’t be able to say, not until the blueprints are done.” The frown was back. “It will be difficult to procure the funds to built a prototype, but I will figure something out.”

“Funds, funds… that’s all that seems to be the problem these days.” Sycamore admonished sadly. He tightened the hug briefly and then slowly released the taller man, shaking his head. “But at least the fundraiser should take care of that.” He perked up a little at the thought. “Perhaps there will be enough in there to make up your material costs!”

Lysandre’s face darkened immediately. “Don’t go spending your money on me, Augustine!”

“Don’t go telling me what to do with imaginary money I don’t even have yet!” Sycamore laughed. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. It was such a relief to have Lysandre speaking again. 

“Ridiculous man.” Lysandre grumbled. “This is how you end up in debt to begin with.”

“If you insist. Now, are you going to stop questioning my life choices and join me in greeting Looker when he arrives?”

Lysandre narrowed his eyes. “What could the man possibly want?”

Sycamore thought about it. The memories of their meeting in the interview room at the police station were mostly framed by adrenalin and concern for Lysandre. “He didn’t speak to me directly at the station. He used a pen and paper to communicate, but he spoke to me properly over the phone. Must not be too serious, if that’s the case. I think he was looking for someone in particular from Team Flare, but I can’t remember the name.”

Lysandre’s frown deepened. “Then it would appear that my help may be needed after all.”

“Did you not meet with Looker while you were… ah… there?”

Lysandre shook his head. “The name was never mentioned to me, but a series of questions about the rest of Team Flare were regularly asked. It is possible that he provided them, if you did indeed meet him and discuss the topic. The police were somewhat insistent about my knowing the locations of several particular members.” He sighed and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Sycamore noticed that the shape of his old beard was started to reappear. It gave him an odd tingle in the pit of his stomach.

“I guess the man himself can explain what the deal is.”

Looker, much to Sycamore’s amusement and Lysandre’s consternation, did not arrive on time. Nearly an hour later than expected, the doorbell sounded and Sycamore busied himself with clambering down the fire escape to greet him.

Looker appeared much the same as he had the first time Sycamore had seen him. Judging by the colour of the trench coat, it may not have been cleaned in the meantime. The older man looked weary, a little dishevelled, and just a little intense. Sycamore waved him inside with a broad smile. “Bonjour! Please, come on in. Unfortunately we have some stairs to climb, but I do have coffee to offer you.”

Looker blinked, looking slightly like a Hoot-Hoot as he did so. “I see…” Obediently he followed Sycamore back up the fire escape, making quiet noises that Sycamore hoped weren’t abject criticism and disdain as they ascended. Mercifully, neither of them slipped. When they reached the top, Looker was huffing from effort and Sycamore had to offer him a hand to get in over the ledge.

“Sorry about that, mon ami,” he smiled apologetically. “We are undergoing some maintenance work right now. Have a seat – I’ll go and get you a coffee.”

“White and one sugar,” mumbled the breathless detective. “And thank you.”

Sycamore ushered him through. Lysandre was perched on the arm of the couch, arms folded and expression inscrutable. Sycamore nodded to Looker. “Lysandre, Looker. Looker, Lysandre. I’ll go grab some drinks.”

From the kitchen, he couldn’t hear any screams of outrage or sudden violence, so he assumed that things were probably doing well. When he returned to the living room, tentatively balancing three cups of coffee, the two men were sitting on opposite sides of the room and carefully not looking at each other. Sycamore barged on through and passed them each their drink. He’d had enough of tense atmospheres for one day, thank you very much.

“So, Mr Looker… how can I help you?” he took a sip of coffee and leaned forward in his seat. Lysandre, right at his elbow, shuffled forward with interest. He saw Looker’s eyes narrow, but the detective didn’t comment.

“Professor Sycamore and Lysandre Fleur-de-lis… I require your assistance. I am in need of help in tracking down one of the last remaining members of Team Flare still at large and unaccounted for.”

Sycamore felt tension radiate up Lysandre’s spine. “Which one?” he intoned stiffly.

“Xerosic.” Looker took a sip from his cup, wrinkled his nose, and locked eyes with Lysandre, much to Sycamore’s amusement. “All other major figures in your disbanded organisation have been found, assessed, and released or detained based on their crime levels. Only Xerosic is still out there.”

“I gave you all the information about his usual haunts and possessions at the police station,” growled Lysandre. “What makes you think that I would know anything more about him?”

“We have been surveying your internet usage. We are aware that you have access to a computer now, Mr Fleur-de-lis, and therefore could have made contact with former Team Flare members.”

Lysandre made a noise of outrage. Sycamore reached up and grabbed his knee to steady him, without thinking. “Lysandre!”

The other man glanced down at him, but his face was still a portrait of outrage. Sycamore turned back to Looker reproachfully. “That is a most unfair accusation, Mr Looker. Lysandre has done no such thing.”

“I would be happy to submit that dratted computer into evidence to confirm that fact,” Lysandre added through gritted teeth. “I have had absolutely no contact with any members, past or otherwise, of Team Flare. Nor have I any interest or intention in making contact.”

“Ah. Pity.” Looker seemed unmoved by the red-haired man’s anger. He took another draught of coffee. “That would have been useful.”

“You want Lysandre to contact Xerosic?” Sycamore realised that he was still gripping Lysandre’s knee and probably not making the best impression on the detective. He hurriedly released the appendage. “Why in Arceus’ name should he do that?”

“Mr Fleur-de-lis might be the only person capable of dragging Xerosic out of hiding. It is imperative that we find this man and bring him to trial.”

“Xerosic was not a malicious person,” Lysandre said quietly. “Even if he goes to trial, he will not be sentenced for any major crimes. Despite his fearsome appearance, he was not a cruel person.”

“Be that as it may, we must still find him and bring him to justice.” Looker nodded firmly. “And I’m going to require help in doing this.”

“Do I get a choice?” Lysandre snarled.

“Oh, it’s not you, Mr Fleur-de-lis. It’s the Professor whose help I need.”

“Me?” Sycamore said in surprise. “What do you need me do to?”

Looker delved into his trench coat pockets and dug out a crumpled flyer. Sycamore recognised the purple background and white print immediately.

“You’re hosting this fundraiser event. It’s a big and fancy one. There’s also a masked ball. Something that someone who’s trying to stay out of public sight would be able to attend without attracting attention, especially if he wanted to make contact with someone else who also can’t be seen in public. These flyers have been distributed widely around Kalos, even into Kanto, Johto, Sinnoh and other regions. If Xerosic is out there, he knows that this is happening.”

Sycamore closed his eyes slowly. The ball had been Diantha’s idea.

_It’s a great idea! People love to get all dressed up and dance the night away. It adds a real touch of class to an event._

_Plus, if it’s a masquerade, then Lysandre can come along and not worry that someone will stop and harass him. You can get him out and about in polite society again, even if I don’t think it’s a good idea. I trust you to make sure he doesn’t have a relapse of any kind. After all, it’s your fundraiser that’s on the line._

She had been amazingly accommodating, once he’d mentioned to her that he was worried about Lysandre being stuck inside the lab building for too long. Now he was regretting it. How could this ball possibly help Lysandre recover if he was just going to have to wade into another police investigation? Let alone one that was meant to touch base with a former Team Flare member!

“All we’d need to do,” Looker continued, “is make an announcement online. On a website that still promotes Team Flare – don’t look at me like that Professor, they do still exist. Lysandre would need to put up some kind of information that only he and Xerosic would know, and instruct him to meet at this event.”

“And have it disrupt the fundraiser that Diantha’s worked so hard on?” Sycamore asked in dismay. “Mr Looker, the lab really needs that money. Diantha’s new project needs to find a backer. This event is a huge deal for us. We can’t risk having it all being disrupted by some kind of sting investigation, particularly since Lysandre wants nothing to do with Team Flare any more! This is a terribly unfair thing to ask of us.”

“I’m aware of that,” Looker said, eyes gleaming. “Which is why the police force is willing to donate half a million dollars to your cause, if anything goes wrong.”

Sycamore’s jaw _nearly_ fell open. “S…seriously?” 

“That is hardly a responsible use of taxpayer money,” Lysandre sniped. 

Looker didn’t appear abashed in any way. “It could represent saving hours of wages and processing costs. If the cost needs to be factored, then we will provide it. But only if you go through with this plan.”

“You said it was my help that you needed, but really it’s Lysandre you want.” Sycamore complained. “That’s not appropriate, Mr Looker.”

“It is true that Lysandre’s help would be invaluable, but it’s not essential. Going off the police interviews, I could assemble a message of my own devising that could lure Xerosic to your event. But I’d rather not. This would be a much better chance for Lysandre to show his cooperation and take some time off his prescribed rehabilitation period.”

“But you would still require the Professor’s permission in case the event runs sour,” Lysandre muttered. He straightened up, arms still tightly folded about his chest. 

Sycamore glanced up at Lysandre curiously. “If it helps out with your sentence, and also gets this guy brought to justice… why not do it?”

Lysandre’s gaze could have made hell freeze over. Sycamore looked away. “Or not?”

“If you do not give permission, then I will seek it from Diantha instead. And no leniency will be considered for Mr Fleur-de-lis.” Looker also sat up straighter, matching Lysandre’s glare measure for measure. “I would therefore recommend that you take the deal and the benefits that could come with it.”

Sycamore sighed. “I guess there’s not much else we can do.” He gave Lysandre an apologetic look. “I don’t like the plan any more than you do, but if we can’t control it, then I guess this is the only way any good can come of it.”

“A dangerous criminal will be caught if it all goes well,” Looker reminded him. “I wouldn’t call that ‘no good’.”

“True, but if this Xerosic doesn’t come along, then you will have prepared a sting operation for no reason. And added a huge damper on the night.”

“In which case, I will be very sorry.”

“That’s something, I suppose?”

Lysandre unfolded his arms and rose from the couch. “I will assist in your operation on the condition that it does not jeopardise the Professor’s funding. Even if the plan goes ahead without any disruption, I would still request that a sizeable donation be made to the laboratory.”

“Done.” Looker nodded, rising to his feet as well. “If the plan doesn’t work, I have another that may also require your help, Professor.”

Sycamore could _feel_ the rage pouring off of Lysandre now. He was surprised that the man hadn’t erupted yet. “In what way, Mr Looker?”

“I would require the assistance of a powerful trainer. Your student, Serena, would be ideal.”

“I don’t own Serena, Mr Looker.”

“But you do have her contact details and her respect, Professor Sycamore. You could convince her to assist me.”

Sycamore sighed ruefully. “I doubt she would take much convincing! She has a strong sense of justice. But I would not compel her against her will to assist. Trust me, Mr Looker. I’ll give you her number and this piece of advice: be clear about what you’re doing. She’ll help you.”

Looker seemed a bit ruffled by that. Lysandre continued to glower as Sycamore led the detective towards the exit, friendly smile still hitched firmly in place. “I am sorry that we were in such disagreement, Mr Looker, but I do hope that you catch Xerosic. If my event is your best chance at that, then I will help. But I do hope that no unnecessary violence has to happen.”

Looker had the decency to seem slightly abashed. “As do I, Professor Sycamore.” He cleared his throat, looking at the fire escape with dread, then looking back up. “I will be in contact by phone again, to give further instruction to Lysandre about the website to leave a message on. After that, you won’t be seeing me again; not unless things go terribly wrong at your event. Just continue on your everyday life. Justice will take place in the shadows.”

“Bien-sûr, Mr Looker.” Sycamore helped him out the fire escape. “I should hope so.”

When he returned to the apartment, Looker safely seen out the building, Lysandre was still sitting on the couch, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“Don’t worry about him,” Sycamore suggested. He settled down beside the man, draping an arm over his shoulders. “With any luck, this will be the last of it. And it could mean that you’re off surveillance sooner.”

Lysandre gave him the smallest smile imaginable, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. He leaned into the contact and released a sigh. Sycamore brought up his other hand to tangle in the other man’s hair, massaging his scalp gently.

“What a load of nonsense… who’d have thought that a party could be such a hassle?”

“When you attention them, Augustine, I have known no other state of affairs.”

“Ouch. That is both harsh and unfair criticism right there, Lysandre!”

“I will retract it when it ceases to be true, Augustine.”

“You’d better.” He closed his eyes experimentally. “I need a bigger couch.”

“I’ve already told you to stop mentally spending money on my behalf, Augustine.”

“Who said it was for you? I just want to lie down about now. This couch is far too short. Not to mention it came with the building, so is probably haunted or full of parasites. I've tried not to think about it too hard every time I sit here.”

Lysandre made a muffled noise that could have been assent, annoyance, or embarrassment. Sycamore ignored it, nuzzling under the man’s increasingly stubbly chin. “Never mind. This will do nicely.”

“You have fundraiser details to arrange, Augustine, and I have blueprints to complete,” Lysandre reminded him, voice rumbling through his chest and all the way through Sycamore’s body in an exceptionally pleasant way. “We can’t just doze on the couch all day.”

“Incorrect. Any further objections?”

“…Not at this stage.”

It hadn’t exactly been an ideal day, but for the moment, Sycamore felt supremely content. He hoped the feeling was mutual.

 

-  
wildfillysama: Sorry about the delay (again!) and thanks for all of your wonderfully helpful comments. I really appreciate it!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Looker was good to his word: Sycamore didn’t hear anything more from him. As far as he could tell (shoddy memory a great assistance here), the man had made no changes whatsoever to the planned fundraiser. Lysandre’s face however was a picture of outrage after one quiet phone call, made while Sycamore was busy handing out another batch of starters to new trainers.

He returned to the apartment to see the other man staring at the receiver with a look that suggested it had either just bitten him or sued him for malpractice.

“Bad news?” Sycamore asked softly. He rested a hand on the taller man’s elbow in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion.

“I’ve been given my instructions,” Lysandre sighed. He gave Sycamore a look that was equal parts resentment and reluctance. Sycamore’s fingers itched to pull him down into a hug, but Lysandre had strode off before he could move. “I will get the wretched message posted and think no more of the matter.”

“Sounds like the best thing to do,” Sycamore agreed. He watched silently as the other man disappeared. _I hope that’s the end of this. He doesn’t need to be pulled back into all that nonsense._

For a moment he had been tempted to look up more information on Xerosic himself. But he’d quelled the thought almost the instant he’d had it. He didn’t want to spend the entire night looking around for some mystery criminal. That was Looker’s job. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be his or Lysandre’s.

What kind of rehabilitation was this?

Lysandre’s closed door made it clear that he didn’t want to be disturbed any more than he already had been. Sycamore flipped open his Holocaster and called Diantha.

“Augustine! What a pleasure. How are you doing?”

“More or less well, Diantha, thanks. I was just wondering, have you had a call from someone named Looker?”

“Actually, yes.” Diantha’s face cocked to one side, one elegant eyebrow rising. “He was very mysterious. Said something about having talked to you about a secret issue that will be completely taken care of? Care to let me know just what in Arceus’ name that means?”

“Uh… if it’s secret, then I guess I can’t say much.” Sycamore hesitated. “Basically there’s a police operation looking for one particular criminal.”

“He lives in your flat, Augustine.”

“Not Lysandre,” he glared at her. “Someone who used to work for Team Flare but seems to have disappeared. They want to lure him to the event and use it as a way of identifying his whereabouts.”

Immediately Diantha’s face was set with fury. “They can’t just do that! What about our guests? There’s an exhibition match to be held early in the night; there’ll still be kids in the audience! That’s so irresponsible of them.”

“We don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid,” he replied sadly. “They’re either doing it with our blessing or without.”

Diantha rolled her eyes. “This is all your house-guest’s fault, you realise?”

Sycamore shook his head. “Lysandre wants nothing to do with this. It’s not his idea.”

“Be that as it may, he’s still the reason it’s happening. Why else would a former Team Flare member come to the event?” Diantha commented shrewdly.

“Malva’s been invited, hasn’t she?” Sycamore pointed out. “All of the Elite Four are attending.”

“That’s different, Augustine. You know it is.”

“Not really. They’ve both been assessed by the law and released. It’s not our place to judge any further.”

Diantha wrinkled her nose. “I’ll reserved judgment for when I’ve actually spoken to Lysandre again,” she said thinly. “He was my friend too, Augustine. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course I won’t,” he reassured her. “And the police have said that they’ll donate a huge sum of money if anything goes wrong. Even if nothing goes wrong, they’ll still make a big donation.”

“I see.” Diantha looked thoughtful. “Have you got Serena to agree to attend yet?”

“I still need to speak to her.”

“See that you do. I’ve got her name on the guest list already. And in the exhibition match. It won’t be much of a raffle if we don’t have a Champion for people to face as the first prize!”

“True, yes!” he laughed. “I’ll call her right now and get that all sorted out. Do you need help with anything else?”

Diantha grinned at him. “I’ve got some big names coming over from other countries. You’ll need to promise me that you won’t go off on a tangent about Mega Evolution when they get here. Brush up on polite conversation, ok? Also, make sure you’ve got your paper presentation ready to go. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“How long do you want me to present for?” At least Lysandre would be able to see his public-speaking training in action! That might be enough to convince the man to attend. Failing that, copious amounts of pleading could stand a chance. “I’ve got about twenty minutes of material so far on the newest Mega Evolutions, but since the lab’s not operable at the moment, there won’t be much else that I can add.”

“See if you can stretch it to half an hour,” Diantha instructed. “That should be enough time to get the ballroom lit up.”

Sycamore suppressed a wince. “Will do.”

“Perfect. See you soon, Augustine!” The screen blinked out. As it did, Lysandre re-emerged from his room, face clouded and jaw set.

“All done?”

Lysandre nodded once. “For now.”

“You’ve done the right thing,” Sycamore offered. “Did Looker say how much they’d reduce your surveillance time?”

“By half.”

Sycamore felt his jaw start to drop. “Seriously?!”

Lysandre nodded again. Words seemed to be failing him. “I need to have a moment.”

“Of course, of course!” Sycamore gestured broadly to the couches and TV. “I’ll go back downstairs and do some clean-up. There are some research materials I need to grab anyway, to finish this dratted speech.”

Lysandre gave him a curious look at the mention of a speech, but didn’t comment. Sycamore took his leave and climbed back out the window. He was getting awfully good at ladders. His leg muscles had never been quite so regularly exercised. It was going to be a bit of a shock when the lift started working again. _Hello and goodbye, brief fitness!_

After a vaguely successful investigation of his desk, he recovered enough materials to pad out the rest of his speech. More or less. He was going to have to speak slowly, that was for sure. He kind of wished that he’d been less dedicated in getting his results published promptly. It meant that he didn’t have much new stuff to suddenly share with the public for the sake of massive gala events. Honestly, he should really start planning for this kind of thing.

If you had asked him ten years ago if he’d thought that this is what his life would be like, Sycamore probably would have suggested that you seek medical help. Now he was actively considering getting the same. 

Walking through the lab made him realise just how long it had been since he’d run any experiments. _Things had better go back to normal soon… I’m probably going to drive everyone mad at this rate._ His fingers itched to take up his tools again. He missed Dexio and Sina. He missed his Pokémon. He missed not having to climb a million stairs every day.

And he wanted to give Lysandre his own workspace. There was no way that that cramped little room was enough for the man.

Papers tucked under one arm, he was just about to flick open the Holocaster and call Serena before he forgot, but the door buzzer started going off. Someone was at the door, and probably stunned to find it locked. Sycamore blinked. He wasn’t expecting any trainers. 

He clambered down the fire escape as quickly as possible without putting his life in extreme jeopardy, sprinting to the door. He threw it open, just in time to see the back of the visitor’s head, turning away to head down the crowded street.

“Serena! What a pleasant surprise.”

The young trainer turned back, long ponytail swishing. Her eyes lit up with pleasure. “Professor, you are in after all! I was worried when I saw that the place was shut. What’s going on?”

“A bit of renovating. Nothing to be worried about.” He ushered her inside. “What brings you to Lumiose City? Did the rail pass I gave you come in handy?”

She gave him a broad smile. “It sure did! I’ve had a great time battling. There are some very impressive trainers gathered over there.”

“I’m sure you fit right in.” he chuckled. “On the topic of gatherings, are you free next week? I’ve got a big gala event coming up and I’d love for you to be part of it, if you’re keen! It’s a fundraiser for the lab and also for Diantha’s new movie.”

Serena looked curious rather than flustered, much to Sycamore’s relief. The time away from Lumiose had brought the spark back to her eyes. She no longer had that strained, almost hunted look that he had seen last time. Travelling really must be good for the soul. Maybe he should try it some time.

“I can do that, sure. What do you need me to do exactly?”

“An exhibition match, if you’re up for it?” He started to lead her to the staircase and then halted. Maybe taking her back up to the apartment where there was a more than slightly nervy Lysandre waiting wasn’t the best idea he’d had all morning. Oops. He turned the halt into a strange little spin and led her back towards the front desk. He leant over the counter and popped open the staff fridge, offering her a can of lemonade. She took it with a nod of thanks.

“It wouldn’t be too hard,” he continued as if their odd little walk had never happened. “We’ll be selling raffle tickets during the night and the winner of the raffle would have a chance to face you. It’d be easy for you, of course, being Champion and all! But you can say no if you’re not interested. Don’t feel pressured into it at all.”

“It’s to raise money for your research, isn’t it?” Serena sipped her lemonade and glanced about the place. Sycamore tried not to cringe as he saw her eyes linger over the dust sheets and bundles of rubble near the lift doors. Had the wallpaper always looked so tacky? 

“Oui, it is!” he laughed. “Money’s been a bit tight recently, and the building’s pretty old. Heritage buildings take a lot of work to look after, you know! Eats into the budget something scary, that’s for sure.”

Serena took another sip, then locked eyes with him. Her face was serious. “I’ll do it, Professor. You can count on me.”

“I always can, it would seem.” He gave her an affectionate smile. “Was it just a random happenstance that brought you to the lab today, or was there something else you’d like to talk about? Your Pokédex?” He tried to keep the enthusiasm in his voice to a dull roar.

She rolled her eyes as politely as possible and handed over the Pokédex with a grin. He flipped open the device and scrolled with great interest while she spoke.

“I don’t know exactly. I got a weird call from someone named Looker. He told me to find his Bureau and speak with him, but he never gave me the address. I wondered if you knew where it was, Professor? You know a lot about Lumiose.”

“Less than some, but more than others.” he nodded sagely. “You’ve seen some incredibly rare Pokémon, Serena! Only a few left and then you’ve seen them all!”

She nodded modestly. “It’s been an amazing journey, Professor.”

“And will continue to be, I’m sure!” He handed the device back to her and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know where the Looker Bureau is. I’ve met Looker before, and he’s… odd. Safe but odd. Does that make sense?”

The flat look from Serena told him that no, it definitely didn’t. Sycamore tried again.

“He definitely exists, and if he says that he’s got a Bureau somewhere, then there’s definitely one in Lumiose. Check the alleyways, maybe? Seems like his kind of place to set up shop. Did he tell you what he wanted?” Sycamore hesitated. Should he tell her about Xerosic? 

Serena shook her head. “It sounded important. I thought I should make my way over, just in case.”

“Bien-sûr! You always were a diligent one.” He snatched back his hand, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair. _Not appropriate, Sycamore. That’s the Pokémon League Champion there!_ “So, I shall see you at the ball next week then?”

“I thought it was a gala?”

“I haven’t checked the tickets, to be honest, Serena. It’s a big fancy party, so it surely gets to have a lot of names. That sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t bother stifling her giggles. “You’re not very good at this, are you, Professor?”

He shook his head vaguely. “Is it that obvious? How about you invite your friends to come along too? I’m sure they’d be much better at this kind of thing than me. I’ll get some tickets prepped for them and have them waiting for you at the door.”

“Where is it?”

“Starts at 8pm, at the Lumiose gym. Dress fancy! Bring a mask for the ball, if you can. Or not. It’s up to you. Masks are kind of weird, after all.”

Serena nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Thank you, Professor.” She turned to leave, and he cleared his throat before he could stop himself.

“Ah, Serena?”

She stopped and glanced back at him curiously. “Yes?”

“Ah… hypothetically… would you be ok if there were members of Team Flare – I mean, _former_ members, at the ball? Loads of people have been invited. You don’t have to battle anyone except for the raffle winner. If you don’t want to.” He hastily finished. “They won’t bother you.” Or not.

Serena was giving him a measuring look. It was entirely too mature for her face, still making slow headway through adolescence. Why was she so ridiculously young? Even her impressively stylish outfit didn’t disguise her youth. She nodded slowly. “I’ll be ok, Professor. I’ll let the others know. They need to know that kind of thing.”

“I agree.” Sycamore waved weakly as she slipped out the front door, all at once feeling absolutely exhausted. 

If this was how he felt now, then he had no idea what to expect for the night.

He pottered around downstairs a while longer, composing the speech and reciting it to nearby walls until he was fairly sure that the paint was peeling in an effort to get away from him. It would have to do. Besides, he didn’t want to make it sound too rehearsed. Lysandre might as well see first-hand how much better he was at speaking in public now, rather than effectively listen to a human tape-recorder.

The rest of the week staggered past with more or less the same tone. Lysandre retreated into his room and even forgot to come out for meals. Sycamore, bored out of his brain with only paperwork to do, kept track.

“Lysandre, you alive in there? I’ve got dinner. And it’s stopped moving at last.”

There was a muffled grumble on the other side of the door. “I’ll be out momentarily, Augustine.”

“You said that half an hour ago. I can’t guarantee that your dinner will still be here if you don’t come out and confront it now. It’s got designs on living on the floor.” He shuffled the plate of cooling pasta onto his other hand. “Come on, you didn’t eat anything today. Or much yesterday. Or the day before. Passing out from hunger isn’t going to get your brilliant inventions any more brilliant, you know.”

The muffled sounds seemed remarkably like cursing now. Sycamore rolled his eyes skywards. “Oh Arceus, have mercy on this unreasonably scientific type living behind this door! I try to feed him and what does he say?”

The door slowly cracked open. Lysandre’s face, looking even bushier than ever, emerged. He looked slightly ashamed. There was a splash of what looked like engine oil on his cheek. “Forgive me, Augustine. I have been slightly preoccupied.”

“Slightly? Try entirely! How’s it going in there?” Sycamore tried to peer past Lysandre’s bulk, but failed completely. “Everything that arrived in the mail was what you needed?”

“I’m only waiting for some precision tooled glass now,” Lysandre informed him. There was pride beneath the exhaustion. His eyes were fixed on the plate in Sycamore’s hand. “The inner mechanics have almost been completed.”

“All from in there?” Sycamore couldn’t keep the amazement out of his voice. He also shoved the plate into Lysandre’s hands. “Eat! I’ll swap you – a look at your new Holocaster device in exchange for the food you keep skipping.”

Lysandre took the plate, but didn’t step out of the way. “Not yet. It isn’t complete.”

“The fact that you’ve built the next leap in communicative technology in my spare room, apparently out of sale scraps from ebay, is something that doesn’t need to be complete in order to be impressive! Just let me have a look?”

Lysandre chuckled wryly, taking a step towards the shorter man and forcing him back. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door firmly behind him. “May I eat on the couch?” 

Sycamore staggered backwards in his hurry to let him by. “Of course! Fresh air and human contact await. Or what passes for it around here.”

Lysandre quirked an eyebrow at him and stalked through into the living room, settling onto the sofa and tucking into the pasta with obvious relish. Sycamore wished it weren’t lukewarm. He settled himself next to the man and tried not to stare as he ate. 

“So, how are you feeling about tomorrow?” he asked carefully. “I’ve got one of your suits out of storage. The one you had left aside. It’s all pressed. Do you reckon it’ll still fit? I’ve got a mask thing as well. Had to get one for my own outfit, so figured I might as well grab you one too.”

Lysandre withdrew the fork from his mouth, eyes flat. “I am not attending the event, Augustine.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, of course! I just… wondered if you’d like to.” He chuckled nervously. “I mean, sitting in here by yourself wouldn’t be much fun.”

“It would give me time and space to complete the Holocaster,” Lysandre reminded him. He loaded up another forkful of pumpkin and broccoli pasta. “I would not be excessively lonely.”

“You’ve spent most of the week working on it, Lysandre,” Sycamore reminded him quietly. “You’ve hardly stepped out your room. Surely a break would be beneficial?”

“I wouldn’t call such an event a ‘break’,” Lysandre growled. He set down the fork and gave Sycamore a critical stare. “Has Looker put you up to this?”

“What?” Sycamore blinked. “No, I haven’t heard a word from him. Why would I?”

“No reason.” Lysandre glared down furiously at the plate.

“That’s what’s eating you, isn’t it?” Sycamore surmised quietly. “Looker has been harassing you?”

Lysandre didn’t say anything. Sycamore leaned in closer. “Calling you? Emailing you?”

Lysandre didn’t look at him. It was answer enough. “His ridiculous plan to lure out Xerosic doesn’t require my presence. If he’s in that gym, the police will see him. There’s no need for me to be there and cause a scene.”

“You’re not going to cause a scene, Lysandre!” Sycamore protested. He dropped a hand onto the man’s shoulder in earnest. “No one knows you’ll be there, and let’s face it, you don’t look quite the same as you did before.” The beard was back, but his hair had only a hint of its old spikes. Prison had done a number on its vitality. “And besides, you’ve done your time. You’re a free person now. They’ve no right to judge you.”

“I’m hardly free, Augustine. I’m only ‘free’ to impose on you. I’m ‘free’ to be called upon by the police therapist and detectives whenever they please.” The look on Lysandre’s face could have curdled milk. He set the empty plate down at his feet. “Things are not precisely normal. Why should I treat them as such, especially when it could jeopardise an event that you so sorely need to go well?”

Sycamore sighed. He dropped his other hand onto Lysandre’s shoulder and gently turned the other man to face him. “Would you mind not assuming that you’re going to ruin things just by being there? My planning isn’t that terrible, I assure you.”

“The last major event I helped to run nearly ended the world. Excuse me if I’m a little apprehensive about getting involved again.”

“Unless Diantha’s put me in charge of the catering, I can safely say that that’s not going to happen.”

The two locked eyes, and Sycamore bit his lip to stop from laughing. The look on Lysandre’s face was one of bewildered affront. “What in Arceus’ name are you laughing at?”

“Am I laughing? I suppose it’s that or cry. What a mess…” Sycamore released his grip on the other man and adjusted his collar, leaning back on the couch cushions. “I swear these things are meant to be easier. What do other people do? Attempt to destroy the world, get arrested, end up in rehab, end up getting blackmailed… then what? What else do we need thrown in the way of life? Honestly, I’m a little concerned with what the universe might just cook up for us.” 

Lysandre’s lips tugged into a ghost of a smile. “It has not been easy, Augustine. Not in the slightest. And yet here we are.”

“Yes… remarkably enough, both not dead. Not even after that wet towel incident.”

“You shouldn’t have left it on the floor,” Lysandre informed him primly. “You wouldn’t have slipped on it if you’d just hung it up.”

“Semantics.” Sycamore waved him away lazily. “There’s enough going on! Frankly, I’m amazed you were able to look up from your Holocaster for long enough to notice.”

Lysandre hesitated. “I… tend to throw myself into work. When there are other things giving me grief, it happens. I should have warned you.”

“No need. I kind of guessed that that was going on. It’s just a bit odd to be living with someone and not seeing them more than once a day.” Sycamore gave him a reassuring smile, reaching out to run his hand through the other man’s hair. It had fought its way loose from the rough ponytail, spikes rebelling against their crude confines. A few more months, and it should be good as new. The thought was no end of comfort. “I don’t mind. Not that much. It’d just be nice to see you again.”

“Once the device is done and your fundraiser is finished, the money issues will stop weighing on me quite so much,” Lysandre admitted. His mouth drew into a firm line. “You can insist that I stop fretting as much as you like, Augustine, but you know perfectly well that until this matter is sorted, I will not let it rest. Until I am completely certain that I am at least not a financial burden on you, I will not impose myself any further on your resources, and that includes your time.”

“My time?” Sycamore gaped at him slightly. “Lysandre, that’s the only resource worth using at the moment – I have almost limitless quantities of it right now! I’ve been so bored out of my brain that I rearranged the spice cabinet! I didn’t even know I _had_ a spice cabinet!”

“You don’t.” 

“Oh. So now I have a spice cabinet that’s usurped something else that was probably more important and will now need replacing!”

“Your logic goes in strange directions, Augustine.” Lysandre shook his head slowly, but some of the lines around his mouth had relaxed. 

“You knew that before you signed up for this.”

“I signed up for nothing.”

“More fool you. Then you’d at least have a contract to claim damages against.”

Lysandre reclined back onto the sofa, eyes falling shut. “You’re not a lawyer, Sycamore.”

“You’re right. I’d be in a less bizarre situation if I were.”

“I dread to think what kind of situation you’d be in.” Lysandre didn’t look up, his eyes still closed. “You have a particular knack for accumulating trouble.”

“You can say that again.” Sycamore snorted. He sat up and nudged Lysandre’s shoulder. “Come on. Come with me to the ball? I promise I’ll stay out of trouble if you do.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Lysandre muttered. One eye cracked open and surveyed the professor. “How do you propose that I stay under the radar, wearing one of my old suits and surrounded by people who’d recognise me?”

“Actually, there’ll be a large delegate of professors and trainers from overseas attending. I’m expected to stick with them and tell them all about my research. They won’t recognise you at all.”

Lysandre’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again. Sycamore watched, intrigued. “Your hair looks so different to what it used to,” he added. “Most people would mainly recognise you for it. If you keep it tied back, and maybe take the fluffy trim off your jacket, you’d look pretty different. Plus there’s that weird mask thing.”

The other eye cracked open. Lysandre fixed him with a weary look. “What good would my attending do?”

“Only whatever good you want it to do,” Sycamore replied. He leaned in and gave the pale man a peck on the cheek. “It’s up to you. I won’t force you, but I’ve tried to make it easier for you, if you think you can do it. There are people there who’d benefit from seeing you and speaking to you in person. Diantha for one. Serena for another.” He paused. “Plus it would be kind of nice if you could hear my speech. I’ve been told I have to give one, and it’d be good to finally show you how all your teaching has paid off.”

Lysandre rolled his eyes. “I have no aversion to attending the speech. But I would like to leave afterwards. Are there any objections?”

“Magnifique! That would be perfect, thank you!” Sycamore rounded on the man, eyes shining. He leaned forward and kissed him soundly. He felt the other man tense up, surprised, then relax into the contact. Emboldened, Sycamore shuffled on the couch, shifting until he was pressed up against the other man’s much broader chest. Lysandre’s hands were up and tugging him closer, deepening the kiss.

It was still surreal, being able to do this.

Sycamore hummed slightly, broke for air and returned to press his lips against the side of Lysandre’s mouth. The other man’s eyes were dark and lidded, with a hint of uncertainty. _Let’s not have any of that!_ In one unusually smooth motion, Sycamore moved one leg over Lysandre’s hip and pulled himself onto the other man’s lap. From there, he was finally able to look the other man in the eye, rather than up at him.

“Is this ok?” he asked gently. His hands lifted, tangling in the other man’s hair, ponytail now completely forsaken. Lysandre made a slightly strangled noise and pulled him in, mouth covering his. What the other man apparently lacked in either experience or perhaps confidence, he was now certainly attempting to make up for. Sycamore’s own hair was tugged askew, lab coat worn out of habit pulled to one side. Lysandre’s mouth was then on the side of his neck and Sycamore couldn’t help but exclaim out loud.

Lysandre’s teeth were trailing against his throat and Sycamore was happy to hand in any brain cells that may have ever offered an idea to any deity that might be foolish enough to want them. He arched his neck closer to the contact and tried not to say anything too openly nonsensical. Lysandre’s breath was warm, and it felt like he was saying something as he made his way across the professor’s neck. Probably something disparaging. Not that either of them cared right now. A pale glint caught Sycamore’s eye and he dipped his head to return the favour, nipping at Lysandre’s throat and making him pause. He latched on, tongue and teeth working, and the other man broke off with a hiss. One hand fisted into his hair and he was pulled upright again, back into a kiss that had more than a hint of teeth to it.

All in all, it was somewhat distracting. But slightly less so than the Holocaster that started ringing in the professor’s back pocket. The sudden movement made him jolt forward, wringing a groan out of Lysandre and a string of apologies from Sycamore.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Lysandre opened one eye, cheeks flushed and expression the epitome of indulgent. “Answer the call, Augustine. You’re forgiven.”

It was Diantha on the ID pad. He really couldn’t ignore it. He ran a hand hurriedly through his hair and flipped open the screen. “Hello!”

“Augustine, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Beneath him. Lysandre’s entire body reverberated with a supressed laugh. Sycamore fought to keep his face straight. “It’s alright, Diantha. I know you must be busy with arrangements for tomorrow! What can I help you with?”

“How many free tickets have you handed out, Augustine?”

He paused. Behind the screen, Lysandre was smirking in a highly distracting fashion. “Uh… about seven, I think?”

“Ok, I’ll make a note for the doormen.” She looked away and jotted something down. When she looked back, she peered at him strangely. “Are you feeling ok, Augustine? You look a bit flustered.”

“Never better! Never better, Diantha.” He grinned at her winningly. Lysandre’s smirk didn’t budge. If anything, it got bigger. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I’ve got the names of the people I need you to look after most. They’re going to be seated at the main table with us, so please promise me that you’ll make sure they have a good time? They’re invited for your benefit, not mine, after all.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” He smiled and attempted to school his breathing to something a little less conspicuous. It was becoming exceptionally difficult, no thanks to the hands rubbing up and down his ribcage, just off-screen. “What were their names, sorry?”

“I’ve got Professor Oak from Kanto coming along. He’s never been to Kalos, so please make sure he doesn’t want to get the first ship out of here. The other major one is from Hoenn. He’s the Pokémon League Champion over there, but he’s also an expert in stones. Should be right up your alley. The other is your old friend Professor Rowan from Sinnoh. He was very keen to come along and see your new lab and the name you’ve made for yourself.”

“Goodness!” _Lysandre, cut that out!_ “That’s an impressive trio, and that’s for sure! I’ll make sure that I don’t make a fool out of myself.”

“Is your reception a bit dodgy? The picture’s either blurry or you keep moving.”

“I think it’s the reception. Can’t trust this piece of junk.” Lysandre responded to the jibe by shifting his hand and suddenly thinking straight wasn’t even _close_ to being an option. The Holocaster nearly fell from Sycamore’s hands as he gasped, fumbling to catch the device. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“Augustine, are you ok?”

“Just tripped! I was walking and… tripped over something.” He forced his breathing to slow. “I’ll stop trying to multi-task. Sorry – you were saying?”

“I wasn’t saying. I was done speaking.” Diantha sounded either concerned or suspicious, and neither one was a good option. “Are you feeling ok? I don’t want you to have a panic attack on me. These are good people. They’ll be amazingly helpful in getting your research shared across more of the world. Plus I have it on good authority that they’re a friendly group. I mean, you’ve met Professor Rowan, so at least you’re fine with him.”

“Piece of cake, no problem.” _How untrue those words were right now._

“You got Serena on board ok?”

“Too easy. She’s already in the city, and she’s happy to join in.”

“Perfect! Thanks, Augustine. I think this is going to go amazingly well.” She cocked her head on one side. “Is Lysandre definitely coming?”

“Oui, at least for a little while.” He resisted the urge to laugh as the other man wrinkled his nose. “I suspect a bit of time outside would be good for him.”

“If you say so.” Diantha sounded less than impressed, but mercifully didn’t comment. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Please, please don’t be late.”

“But of course! Goodbye, Diantha. See you soon.”

He hung up the Holocaster, stuffed it back into his pocket, and affixed Lysandre with his most accusing look. “What in Kalos’ name was that all about?”

“I haven’t the faintest inkling of what you mean.” Lysandre smoothly nudged him aside and onto his own couch cushion, rising from the sofa with an infuriating look on his face. “Thank you for dinner. If I’m going to be attending this ridiculous event of yours, I’ll need to go back to work now. Good evening, Augustine.” With a smirk firmly in place, he swiftly retreated to the sanctity of the spare room.

Sycamore was left, flustered and more than a little uncomfortable, alone on the couch. 

Well, alone aside from the dirty dishes, that was.

Revenge was going to be sweet indeed.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The suit itched. He twisted this way and that, trying to loosen off the fabric. The seams weren’t tight; they shouldn’t be for the price he’d paid not that long ago. His mother had been most insistent that he must get a good suit to celebrate his graduation. But for some reason, despite spending most of its life hanging up resplendently in the back of his wardrobe, it had inexplicably gained a layer of what felt like small spikes. 

Sycamore shook out the jacket in confusion. _What in Arceus' name is wrong with you?_ He dragged off the shirt and shook it as well, then stared at the floor. A whole bunch of leaves had fallen out. Suspicions rising, he threw open the wardrobe and waded through the sea of fallen shoes, misplaced socks, and lumpy extra sheets. He prodded into the depths with one freshly polished shoe, quietly praying for its survival. “Come on, I know you’re in there!” 

A Chespin appeared from under the debris, chattering angrily and spraying razor leaf as it went. One of the sharpened pieces struck him on the cheek. Sycamore started backwards in surprise, one hand flying to his face. It came away slightly damp with blood. “Sorry friend! My goodness, how long have you been in there? _How_ did you get in there?”

The Pokémon had retreated to just under the bed. It declined to answer any questions, but certainly seemed happy to generate them. Sycamore crouched down after it, voice low and kind. “Don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you.” The little creature was particularly small. “Good grief, you must have been from one of the newer batches… how in Arceus’ name did you managed to get all the way up here?”

There must be a broken panel somewhere downstairs, he realised sadly. Something else that need repairing. Chespin have excellent teeth. It wouldn't have taken a massive amount of effort for one to gnaw itself an excellent tunnel. What a shame for the structural integrity of the house. 

Chespin squeaked at him crossly and darted for the door. Sycamore groped for a spare Pokéball in his pocket, forgetting that he was wearing his dress trousers and that there was nothing there. He turned for his discarded work clothes and heard a _click_. He looked around in horror to see the door swing open, a vine whip retracting, and the Chespin pelting down the hallway at top speed.

 _Crap!_ He took off after it. Why was it always the smart ones that escaped? 

“What’s going on?” A muffled Lysandre heard the stampede but clearly didn't want to get involved. Sycamore raced past his door and continued into the living room. _Please tell me I didn’t leave anything too valuable lying around!_

Chespin banked a hard left when he got to the living room, wide eyes fixating on the TV. When he spotted Sycamore’s reflection approaching, arms outstretched and face pleading, he sniffed and took off in the opposite direction. Sycamore lunged for him and rebounded off the coffee table. _Curse you, my old foe._ He could already feel an egg-shaped lump forming on his shin.

“Merde!” The yelp was forced out of him, but he scrambled back to his feet and kept after the indignant little Pokémon. It disappeared into the kitchen. “Not in there, friend! Come on, I’ll get you something to eat if you come over here!”

He rounded the door just in time to watch Chespin take a cheery dive into the sink, still full of marinating dishes and lukewarm soapy water. A wave of dirty water crested the counter top and slopped right over, splattering Sycamore’s dress shoes. He made a grab for the Pokémon again, laughing despite himself when the little thing literally slipped out of his grasp. Soapy footprints made their way back into the hallway, gaining speed.

“Augustine, what in blazes are you doing?” 

Lysandre had stuck his head out from his room, peering around the door with a look on his face that strongly suggested that Sycamore had finally gone somewhere too drastically mad for him to follow. He did, however, immediately spot the capering Chespin. Rolling his eyes, he stuck out a foot. Chespin tripped headlong over it. 

“Gotcha!” Sycamore pounced, wrestling the little creature into his arms. Chespin squeaked and struggled. He crooned to it, attempting to pacify it. “How long were you hiding in there, my little friend? I’ll need to get you checked out to make sure you’re not dehydrated! We’ve got some food and vitamin supplements for you just downstairs…”

“Judging by that turn of speed, I’d say it’s feeling no ill effects.” Lysandre sounded bored. The look on his face settled into a comfortable setting of minor condescension as he contemplated the scrabbling Pokémon. "It certainly appears to have the upper hand here."

“Still, I have no idea how long he’s been in my wardrobe for! Poor little thing, no wonder he's stressed.” Sycamore petted Chespin’s head reassuringly and was nearly bitten for his troubles. Lysandre gave him a flat look that called into question all of his qualifications as an expert on Pokémon behaviour. "And bitey," Sycamore amended. "Very bitey."

“It’s your wardrobe, Augustine. I’m sure one mildly antagonistic Chespin is the least of the concerns to be found in there,” Lysandre sighed. He tugged at the lapels of his own jacket, pristine and not even slightly creased from months in storage. His entire ensemble was painfully flattering. Sycamore opened his mouth to retaliate, but stopped. 

“You may have a point there,” he conceded. “Honestly, Lysandre, I had never considered that it was in such dire need of a clean though. Creating life is a whole new angle even for my wardrobe.”

Lysandre snorted, then suddenly flushed. Sycamore blinked at him curiously. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just give it here. I’ll take care of it. You go and finish getting ready.” 

_Are we running late?_ Sycamore wondered. It was possible, he guessed. After all, he hadn’t been paying a whole lot of attention to the clock. Hunting for appropriate evening wear had taken a particularly large chunk out of his afternoon. For some reason, even though Lysandre was still rather lukewarm about the whole idea of going to a function, he had taken a rather versed interest in telling Sycamore what he could and couldn’t wear. But he was keeping the Jolteon patterned socks, thank you _very_ much.

“If you insist?” He held out the struggling Pokémon, and noticed that Lysandre wasn’t looking him in the eye any more. In fact, he was looking off to one side and was really rather red. Almost the exact same hue as his shirt, in fact. It was quite impressive.

“Are you ok, Lysandre?” 

“Never better,” came the curt answer. It did not come with any eye contact. The former head of Team Flare snatched Chespin out of his hands and whirled, marching away towards the fire escape. Stung, Sycamore watched him go. _What was that all about? Don’t tell me I somehow offended his sensibilities again._

The draft as the window was opened chilled him to the bone. Sycamore looked down in confusion. 

Well, this was embarrassing. 

“Sorry, sorry!” He hurried away back towards his room. He didn’t know if Lysandre could still hear him, but it was sure as hell worth a try. In fact, he would probably be apologising for the rest of the night. Apparently he’d forgotten to put his shirt back on. And his trousers were undone. All in all, it made perfect sense for Lysandre to decide to avoid any and all contact. He was probably dying of second-hand embarrassment on Sycamore’s behalf over such an undignified display.

He slammed the bedroom door with a little more force than it deserved and hastily recovered the rest of his clothes. _Very smooth, Augustine!_ Now he just had to go and find his dignity wherever he’d left it, abandoned and sorely disused, and then he’d be fine too.

The suit jacket pinched around his shoulders. He’d been reassured by the tailor that it was meant to do that, but it didn’t make him feel any less confined. Give him a lab coat any day. He stuffed the plain black masquerade mask, the cheapest he could find on short notice and probably designed for a child half his age, into his jacket pocket. He retrieved the crumpled copy of his speech from the bedside table, already full of crossed-out sections and penned amendments in the margins. It would have to do. He shoved it deep into his other pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and gave the rest of the room a quick once over. _Done… now have I forgotten anything?_

There were piles of washing everywhere. A near infinite supply of lab coats had almost been used up, huddled like a strange igloo in the corner nearest the door. Sycamore regarded them sadly as he straightened his bowtie. _I’ll need to take them to the laundry downstairs… even more stairs to consider. Oh goody._ Surely they could wait for another week or two.

That should be fine, as long as Lysandre didn’t set foot inside the room any time soon. He might just have a fit if he ever saw the piles of old paperwork, unmade bed and shambolic furniture. He had no idea just how Chespin had managed to get in, but he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he ended up finding some secret labyrinth of chewed tunnels through the walls all the way up from the lab. The place was ancient, after all.

Slightly more dressed and the last of the razor leaf burrs shaken from his clothes, Sycamore padded back out into the hallway. Lysandre was nowhere to be seen. Chespin, however, was seated on a couch cushion and making his way through a bowl of Pokéblocks. He looked quite contented and most unwilling to move. Sycamore slowly made his way towards the small Pokémon.

“Are you feeling better, my little friend?”

Chespin gave him a haughty look, slightly ruined by its bulging cheeks and Pokéblock crumbs. Sycamore pretended not to notice.

“You can be trusted to stay here then, mon ami?” he asked playfully, crouching down to its eye level. “Will you be ok by yourself, or would you like to go back downstairs with the others?”

The Chespin gave him a deeply judgmental look and continued eating. Sycamore sighed and straightened back up. “Bien-sûr, I’ll leave you be. You must have had quite a fright, being trapped in there!” 

His hand strayed to his belt, checking that his own Pokémon were all still there. Even if he wasn’t intending to battle, you never knew when someone would decide to accost you in an alleyway. Besides, if Serena got distracted on her way to the ball and skipped out on her auctioned fight, Sycamore suspected his head might be on the chopping block. He might as well come prepared to be a stand-in, at least for a laughably easy exhibition match.

The sound of someone clearing their throat had Sycamore retreat from his increasingly muddy thoughts. He turned and spotted Lysandre standing quietly in the hall, still perfectly dressed and clasping a mask. His Pokéballs were almost completely covered by the hem of his jacket, but Sycamore was relieved to see them there. At least now they would have a chance to go outside. He wasn't sure who would have suffered more from Lysandre being in prison. 

“Magnifique!” he crowed. He rounded on the other man, looking up and down in admiration. “You look wonderful! I don’t see why you were so worried about nothing fitting you anymore.”

Again, Lysandre rolled his eyes. “It will have to do,” he muttered. He tugged at the cuffs, gold cufflinks clicking together. “Your iron is an affront to humankind.”

“I consider ironing in general to be an affront to humankind,” Sycamore agreed. “I like to make that known in my choice of iron as well. Frankly, I'm amazed you found the thing. I thought it had been lost generations ago.”

“Once I have the funding, I’m getting you a new one, if only for the sake of my wardrobe.” Lysandre retorted. He stopped and seemed to catch himself. Sycamore gave him a funny look. "What's wrong?"

Lysandre shook his head slightly. Sycamore’s heart sank. _What have I done_ this _time?_

Apparently spotting the woebegone look on the professor's face, Lysandre reached out. Sycamore held his breath as the other man slowly touched his cheek, thumb calloused from working on his new invention. There were tiny little nicks and burns all over his hand, now that Sycamore could see it closely. His stomach did a funny little acrobatic movement. He tried not to stutter, but failed miserably.

“What happened there?” Lysandre’s voice was accusing, eyes fixed on something right on Sycamore’s cheek. His thumb brushed over a cut.

“Oh, the razor leaf, I guess?” Sycamore stilled his breathing back to normal. “I forgot all about that. It doesn’t hurt. Don’t reckon it needs a band-aid or anything. Not as if you can talk anyway, looking like that!” He reached up and patted the other man's hand, raising an eyebrow.

Lysandre looked less convinced. He also ignored him. “There is still blood on your face,” he intoned stiffly. A hand closed on Sycamore’s wrist and he found himself being steered towards the bathroom. “You can’t go out like that.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be fit to go out!” Sycamore laughed. His nerves rebounded to normal. He let himself be positioned in front of the bathroom mirror and stood passively as the other man raided his medicine cabinet. It was rather entertaining to watch him navigate the sea of expired and non-human-consumption products in there.

“There should be some antiseptic in there. Somewhere.” Sycamore told him when Lysandre finally turned and treated him to a thoroughly exasperated look. He frowned. “Actually, does antiseptic go off? Might not be a good bet in that case… Does razor leaf usually carry anything dangerous? Not my field of study. I should be fine.”

Lysandre gave him a look that strongly condemned all of his life choices, but did not accompany it with any commentary to provide more detailed examples. He swapped a cotton-ball with something that looked like it was going to sting and without further ado, pressed the swab to Sycamore’s cheek. To Sycamore’s own quiet pride, he didn’t make any silly noises. He huffed and tried not to think about the twinge.

“It’s deeper than it looks, obviously,” Lysandre grumbled, unconvinced by the theatrical nonchalance. The sounded positively annoyed. “You’re lucky it doesn’t need stitches. Razor leaf cuts are very fine and hard to see, but can turn nasty very easily.”

“Speaking from personal experience there?”

“Not personally, but I have met someone who was on the brunt of a wild Venusaur’s attack. She had to have multiple stitches.”

“A wild Venusaur? Now that I’d love to see…”

“That was not an invitation to repeat her experience, Augustine.”

Sycamore waved away the accusation. “Of course, of course! Not to get hurt like your friend – sorry, by the way – but that is such a rare thing to see out in the wilderness! They’re such a secretive species to begin with, let alone one that old and evolved. What a privilege…”

“Hm.” Lysandre sounded slightly less unimpressed, which was a mercy in itself. The cotton-ball was chucked into the bin and the cut closely inspected. “No stitches needed, but do attempt to do nothing else foolish for the night," he grumbled. There was such concern in his eyes. It was genuinely humbling and completely unfounded.

Sycamore sighed. The other man was ridiculously close, peering at the injury. He was so intent on the tiny, almost negligible cut that he’d completely overlooked his accompanying airspace infringements. Sycamore gently pressed a kiss to the other man’s cheek, catching him off-guard. Lysandre’s eyes lifted, only minutely less intent. It truly didn’t deter the professor at all from his proposed distraction. His lips found Lysandre’s own, still in a concerned line, but soft. The other man’s eyes fell shut and Sycamore let his hands move up, tangling in long red hair. He pressed forward, bringing his chest up against Lysandre’s own hard frame. Warmth radiated through the expensive suit, along with an irritated growl.

Lysandre pulled away but his hands, which had attached themselves like clamps to Sycamore’s elbows, remained. He was treated to a dark look. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question. It was wishful thinking in action.” Sycamore gave him another peck on the cheek, giddy with his own boldness. It was still ridiculous to think that he was _allowed_ to do that kind of thing. The look on Lysandre’s face suggested that he would strongly agree with the ‘ridiculous’ part of that feeling. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Nothing is going to stop that now,” Lysandre reminded him. His eyes were heavy and Sycamore had the sneaking suspicion that if he kept staring like that, neither of them were going to make it to the party. His lungs didn’t seem to be doing a good enough job at oxygenating his brain; everything felt a bit tingly and strange. He shook his head, partly to clear it and partly in answer.

“You’re right, but I wouldn’t like my chances for continued survival if we let Diantha down.” He gave the taller man an apologetic look, resting one hand on his cheek. “Shall we head off?”

He didn’t exactly get a ‘yes’, but Lysandre at least followed him out to the fire escape. The grinding of his teeth was only faintly audible. Sycamore tried to ignore it and ducked his head to sneakily check on the new addition to the flat. Chespin had finished the entire bowl of Pokéblocks and settled down for a nap on the couch, sprawled on the heap of cushions. Sycamore didn’t feel good about leaving it there unattended, but suspected he’d feel worse after trying to move it.

 _If it destroys anything, we can deal with it later,_ If everything goes well tonight, then there would be no more money problems for a long, long while. That thought in itself was enough to propel him out the door. 

The early evening was pleasantly cool. The street lamps had been lit, so the long pavements were easy to navigate. Lysandre looked torn between enthusiasm for being outside again and concern for being recognised. His gaze was locked firmly on the ground, shoulders hunched as if to try and hide his face.

“Relax,” Sycamore murmured to him. He considered slipping his hand into the other man’s, but suspected that with his current nerves, he’d probably end up with it broken. “Deep breaths. No one is going to say anything.”

Lysandre sent a minute glare his way. His shoulders didn’t relax in the slightest, but as they walked towards the city centre, he spied Lysandre’s constantly shifting stare. He was obviously trying to take in as much of the outside world as possible. Even with most of the shops closing up for the night, Lumiose City was still a vibrant place. Much more stimulating than a dusty back bedroom. 

Sycamore felt stung. _Maybe I should convince him to go on walks in the evening, when he’s not likely to bump into anyone._ His stomach sank. Maybe everything he’d been doing recently had been unhelpful. Keeping him indoors all the time couldn’t be good for his sense of freedom and independence.

“Augustine, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop it.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“The look on your face tells me that you’re thinking about something foolish again,” Lysandre growled. His cheeks were flushed from the cool air, but his blue eyes were firm. His hair was even fluffier than usual, rebelling against its ponytail confines in the breeze. “Stop it.”

“Easier said than done,” Sycamore laughed. “You know what it’s like to worry all the time!” 

Lysandre stifled a sigh, but a huff of condensation still misted in front of him. “Try to focus on what you’re meant to be doing tonight. That should be more than enough to keep you in trouble.”

“Who says that’s not the cause for my apparently controversial facial expression?” Sycamore grinned. Lysandre shook his head wearily.

“Because I have only seen you make that particular face for one reason, and I find it really rather annoying. Stop worrying on my behalf, Augustine, and start worrying about your speech.”

“I’d settle for not worrying about anything, if I had my druthers,” Sycamore muttered. _To hell with it._ He grabbed Lysandre’s hand and clamped it firmly in his own, ignoring the other man’s startled jump. Lysandre gave him a peculiar look, eyes narrowed, but didn’t comment or retract his hand. “I’d kill for a glass of wine about now.”

“Let us hope that the catering doesn’t make such demands.”

Sycamore stared at Lysandre incredulously. “A joke? From you? At a time like this? Now I know I’m dreaming!”

The flush on the taller man’s face darkened and he abruptly turned away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Augustine.”

“You’ve alternated between ‘foolish’ and ‘ridiculous’ for a while now, Lysandre. Sounds to me like your internal thesaurus is busted. A drink should do you good too,” Sycamore ribbed him slyly. "Come on, this is going to be fun!" 

“Hush. I can see the queue for the door.”

Sycamore relented, but didn’t let go of the other man’s hand. Lysandre’s fingers were surprisingly warm despite the falling temperatures. To Sycamore's quiet relief, he made no move to pull away. Their long jacket sleeves almost hid their contact, but Sycamore knew with a certainty usually only reserved for major discoveries that he did not care if anyone noticed or commented. Let them. He'd have a great time explaining that one; it might even clarify a few things for himself.

They made their way to the front of the queue. The patrons all seemed to be in good humour, rugged up in expensive jackets against the cold and sipping from champagne glasses, handed out by waiters making their way down the long, snaking line. A few familiar faces caught Sycamore’s eye and he waved cheerily as they passed. Lysandre however had noticeably shrunk. Sycamore forced the pity out of his voice. He knew that Lysandre would want none of it. "It's great there are so many people here. I know how much the tickets were! This should do wonders for the lab."

Lysandre nodded stiffly. He didn't seem to want to speak. 

“Don’t worry,” Sycamore reminded him as they approached the main doors. “Deep breaths.” _Now, I’m the broken record._ Lysandre seemed too rattled to care. The grip on Sycamore’s hand tightened to vise-like qualities, but he refused to retract it. He tangled his fingers into Lysandre's own, tucking under the hem of his jacket.

The doorman let them in immediately. Sycamore almost had to cover his eyes as the brightness of the room ahead swamped his retinas. Diantha had gone all-out on the lighting expenses, apparently. The electric-type gym had gone overboard in the most gorgeous way possible. Chandeliers had been installed, along with wide tables covered in candles. Statues and paintings have been set up all along the walls. There was some kind of sculpture of a Mega Gardevoir right in the centre of the room, surrounded by dessert tables. Rare stones and bowls of flowers littered the tables in what Sycamore was sure was an artistic display but which didn’t make much sense to him personally. He felt Lysandre heave a sigh, and when he turned to glance at the other man, the look on his face was pure peace.

Of course. It was all beautiful stuff. Probably a massive relief after spending so much time in a prison cell and in close proximity to Sycamore’s decorating skills. Lysandre was finally back where he belonged. Sycamore gave his hand a squeeze.

They moved past the lines of tables up to a polished dance floor, which was also being prepped for a Pokémon battle. Sycamore eyed the large trellises of winding flowers and lights just nearby. Would they survive a stray beam attack? Why in Kalos’ name would Diantha organise to have a match right in the middle of the floor? Surely the facilities just upstairs would have worked better. Speaking of Diantha, where had she gotten to? There were only waiters and other staff rushing around, getting all the finishing details into place. He felt a tug on his hand. 

“Look over there. I believe that is your table.” Lysandre jerked his head towards the back of the room.

“Your table as well, Lysandre. Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily,” Sycamore admonished him. He peered in the direction Lysandre had motioned. Sure enough, one particularly fancy table was right at the other end of the room. Diantha was standing at one end of it, poring over a guest list that hit the ground and looking slightly frazzled. Her assistant, a young girl with large glasses, was running back and forth with vases in her hands for no apparent reason. He led Lysandre towards them, feeling the reluctance pouring from the other man.

“Ok, so we have four confirmed nut allergies, so we need to move the cards so that there’s no chance of contamination… and no alcohol for table twelve! Can’t have the kids making that kind of mistake. I know Serena’s mature for her age, but no one wants to see that…” Diantha’s face was pinched in a frown, eyes fixed on her page. Sycamore gently tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around, blinked in confusion, and then her face spread into a relieved smile. “At last, Augustine!”

She swept him into a hug and Sycamore had to release Lysandre’s hand to avoid getting them all caught up. The other man stepped backwards as though stung, drawing a curious glance from Diantha's assistant. Sycamore laughed to hide the awkward gesture, and tried not to look at Lysandre. There was only so much unfiltered annoyance radiating from one person he could put up with right now. Diantha was all business. “Alright, now you’re here, how good are you at folding napkins into little Vulpixes?”

“Terrible?” Sycamore offered. “Lysandre, how about you?”

No answer. He _definitely_ wasn’t going to look at the other man now. He could almost feel the heat of the glare the back of his head was currently receiving.

“Too bad.” Diantha sighed. “I had hoped for something more elaborate, but it turns out the best they can do are those little hat things.”

“The place looks stunning as it is,” Sycamore reminded her. “Don’t worry! The hard part is done.”

She gave him a look that borderlined on wanting to chew him out for not being involved in any of this stuff, but was too busy being sidetracked by the fact that the previous head of a megalomaniacal company was standing only a few feet away and trying not to make eye contact. It was an understandable state of mind. She inclined her head stiffly. “You’re looking well, Lysandre.” Ice crackled in the air. Sycamore’s smile faded.

“More well than I deserve,” Lysandre responded. His voice was surprisingly even. Sycamore knew this must be affecting him, but apparently Diantha wasn’t the only one with impressive acting skills. “The gym looks outstanding. Your work is beautiful.”

“Just as well,” Diantha nodded dismissively. There was something calculating in her eyes that Sycamore wasn’t too sure he liked. He wondered if she’d noticed their hands locked together earlier. Probably not. “I’d like a word with you, Lysandre, if you don’t mind waiting with me for a while.”

Lysandre’s long red ponytail swished as he nodded slowly, eyes still lowered. Sycamore itched to give him a hug, but suspected it would go about as well as the rest of the conversation so far. Diantha looked away, turning to her assistant. “Right, we’re ready to start letting everyone in. Please go and let the doorman know.” She turned back to Sycamore. “You, Augustine, I need you to go and get the international delegates from the waiting room. They should all be there by now. Please bring them in and make them comfortable.”

Sycamore nodded and shot the other man an apologetic look. Lysandre had a distant expression on his face, but mercifully didn’t appear too murderous. Sycamore hurried off in what he hoped was the direction of the waiting room, leaving the two talented trainers standing there in what had to be one of the stoniest silences in recorded history.

Ah well. At least he didn’t have to participate. Lysandre was Diantha's friend too, after all. They needed time to patch things up. Hopefully not literally.

The waiting room wasn’t far, though it still took Sycamore a few wrong turns and the assistance of a sympathetic waiter to find it. The walls of the room had been crafted out of yet more lights and flowers and a few temporary walls, layered with posters from Diantha's previous movies. Wrestling his way through a curtain that served as a door, he came face-to-face with the startled expressions of his charges. Or, at least, he was face-to-face once he’d pulled the last of the curtain tassels off his own face. The looks on their faces ranged from amused to unimpressed, without much variety aside from costume decisions. Sycamore took a deep breath.

“Good evening!” he smiled broadly. “Welcome to Lumiose City! I am Augustine Sycamore and also the local Pokémon professor. I specialise in the study of Mega Evolution, but I promise to only talk about it incessantly if you ask me to. It’s lovely to meet you!” _Oh good lord, I sound like an auto message._

He met the eyes of his former teacher, Professor Rowan, first. The older man was unmistakable with his dramatic facial hair and long brown jacket. It may have been washed specially for the occasion. Rowan gave him a small wink and Sycamore stifled a blush. It had been years since they’d seen each other in person. The elderly man standing next to him, still wearing a lab coat, must be Professor Oak. The look on his face strongly suggested that no one was prising that lab coat away from him. Sycamore certainly didn’t intend to try. He had a sneaking suspicion that several had already fallen in pursuit of that quest. 

A little off to the side was a young man with pale hair, a purple and black suit, and the kind of bone structure that Sycamore tended to classify as unfair. Sycamore cleared his throat. “Would you like to come through to the main table? Everyone should be arriving soon. We have drinks and snacks out, and the main events should begin not long from now.”

The two professors rose from their wicker chairs and moved towards him. Professor Rowan gave him a gruff handshake and pat on the back, almost sending him flying into Professor Oak. “Good to see you again, Augustine! Sounds like you finally stopped shaking whenever you give a speech. Miracles do happen, I see!”

“Haha… yeah… we’ll see about that later.” Sycamore offered his hand to Professor Oak, who was giving him a shrewd glance. The other man took it after only the briefest hesitation. Nearly having to catch someone tends to leave an impression, after all. “Professor Oak, yes? Welcome to Kalos. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Professor Sycamore.” Professor Oak sounded more tired than anything else. “Forgive me. I’m still rather tired after my journey over. Everything's a little hazy at the moment.”

“Long trip? I’ve never been to Kanto, sorry.” Sycamore smiled gently. He wondered if it would be polite to offer the man a cup of tea instead of champagne. He really did look exhausted. “Furthest I’ve been is Sinnoh to meet Professor Rowan here, and even that took a lot out of me. I'm really happy that you could make it here to meet with us.”

“A little jetlagged, I think.” Professor Oak nodded. He seemed to relax, scratching at his high collar. “It’s been a while since I was last at one of these functions. I’ve been just staying home in Pallet Town for the most part of this year. Keeps me busy enough, but definitely out of the spotlight!”

“Nothing wrong with staying home and getting work done!” Professor Rowan laughed. Sycamore joined in, though with some consternation. How long had it been now since his lab had been fully operational? His heart sank at the thought. His fingers itched for a moment, missing their controls. He was struck by a sudden longing to be back at his desk and figuring out things that made much more sense than the world's most recent offerings to him. He ushered the two men through the door and extended a hand to the much younger man, hanging back slightly.

“And you must be the Champion of Hoenn!”

“Only just,” came the younger man’s response. He fixed Sycamore with a wry smile. “I received the title only last week. I’m barely qualified. Going to rescind my invitation now?”

“Goodness, no! You’re more than welcome here.” He grinned and offered a hand. “I’ll fetch you a commiseration drink; welcome to a land of responsibilities!”

“Steven Stone, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The hand was clasped back and Sycamore thought wistfully of his younger self. _Goodness, this would have helped me answer a few questions when I was younger! Never mind._ He cleared his throat and welcomed him through into the main room, trying to suppress the laughter at himself that was threatening to overtake. 

He overtook the two slower-moving professors and led them up to the table. To his slight concern, Lysandre was nowhere in sight. Unable to leave his guests, he settled for looking around, trying to spot Lysandre’s vividly-coloured hair. Drinks were passed around and Professor Oak and Professor Rowan launched into conversation, taking it in turns to pick his brain about Mega Evolution. Sycamore basked in the attention, but was still shooting worried glances around the room every so often. _Where could he have gone?_

“We’re not boring you, are we?” Professor Oak ribbed, after Sycamore had had to ask him to repeat the same question three times.

“No, certainly not!” He threw up his hands in protest. “My sincerest apologies. I’m just looking out for my friend. I would have thought that he would have liked to join in this conversation.” _Not to mention, I have my speech coming up soon. I would’ve thought that he’d stick around for that part._ His stomach flopped unpleasantly. What had Lysandre and Diantha talked about after he'd left? Maybe they'd argued and Lysandre had gone off in a huff. He tried to keep the smile hitched on his face. He really hoped that that hadn't happened. The thought of Lysandre walking back to the lab himself was doing deeply unpleasant things to his sense of guilt. He tried to change the subject. “Steven Stone, I heard that you know a lot about rare geological formations. Have you come across anything like a Mega Stone before?” 

Steven’s eyes lit up. He dug into his pockets and to Sycamore’s amusement, pulled out a shiny pile of rubble. Apparently the designer wear had been specially tailored to have a rocks pocket. The cleaning staff were going to charge a premium for picking up all that dirt. Maybe he wasn’t as out of place at this table as Sycamore had initially feared. He passed Sycamore a small greenish-blue stone. Sycamore took it reverently. The little rock had a peculiar lustre, and it set his heart racing. It was definitely some kind of Mega Stone. He’d seen this kind of gleam before.

“Would you mind if I borrowed this?” he asked excitedly. “It’s definitely a Mega Stone of some kind! I’ll return it to you as soon as I’ve discovered which Pokémon it reacts towards.”

“How can you tell?” Steven queried, head cocked. “I don’t know a huge amount about these things. And I take it personally when there's a rock that I can't identify. That's why I carry it around; just in case I have an idea.”

Sycamore leaned in eagerly. “It’s a lot to do with how the Pokémon’s energy responds to the stone. I’ve designed some special gauges and checks to determine compatibility. Took a while, but they work pretty consistently now. It's all about finding the right stone and the right Pokémon at first. From there though, it’s up to the Pokémon’s trainer. If the stone corresponds to a beloved member of your team, for example, the Mega Stone can be used to amplify their power and trigger a whole new temporary evolution. But it really depends on the trainer. I can tell you which Pokémon can use it, but whether or not anything can happen is up to you.”

Steven blinked, a slow smile spreading over his face. “That’s incredible!”

Professor Rowan laughed. “That’s Augustine for you! I knew he’d crack that puzzle one day.”

Professor Oak gave him a curious look and Rowan elaborated. “When I met Augustine, he was an exchange student still engaged in the early stages of his research. Kind of a funny kid. You know how they are at that stage. He wanted nothing more than to uncover the ways to determine how and why Mega Evolution happens. It sounds to me like he’s managed to not only figure this out, but create devices to measure it for him! All that in not a lot of time…” The look on Rowan’s face was pure admiration. 

Sycamore knew that his own face was burning, but couldn’t muster a response. He was quietly relieved when a familiar face appeared at their table with a bored expression and a wad of raffle tickets.

“Would you like to buy some raffle tickets? First price is an exhibition match with the current Kalos Pokémon League Champion.” Serena was wearing a pale blue dress with a high Mandarin collar and the look of someone who desperately wanted to be elsewhere. Her hair had been elaborately styled. Her team was probably in the little bag she was clutching. He knew her posture all too well. He almost wished that he hadn't asked her to help. But still, if she was League Champion, she was going to have to get used to these kinds of events. At least at this one she could have a battle to get her mind off things.

Sycamore rose and gestured her to come forward. “Serena! Come and meet Professors Rowan and Oak, and Steven Stone. They’re from Sinnoh, Kanto, and Hoenn. I’m sure they’d love the chance to battle you. Or rather, I think Steven would.” He gave her a wink and nudged her in the elegantly dressed young man's direction.

“You’re the Pokémon League Champion here?” Steven’s eyebrow raised and his mouth settled into a challenging smirk. “A pleasure to meet you. I've only recently become League Champion myself. How are you finding it?”

Serena turned to him, face still resigned, then she stopped. Sycamore immediately filled with pity when he saw her brain slowly process just what she was looking at. _Ah, there’s adolescence, right there._ Her face was slightly pink as she nodded. “I’m Serena… nice to meet you. Steven, was it?”

“Yes,” he smiled at her and Sycamore had to turn away to stop from laughing. Poor Serena was looking at him like he was a new legendary Pokémon and she hadn't brought any Pokéballs. "Would you mind awfully having a talk with me about Mega Evolution? I heard that you're able to use it. I'd love to hear from you yourself just what that's like."

Raffle tickets apparently forgotten, Serena pulled up the spare chair and sat down next to the Hoenn Champion. ""I... uh... can, yeah. That's right. Three of my team can Mega Evolve, but not all at the same time. Only one per battle."

Steven leaned forward eagerly. "Really? How do you decide which one to use then?"

Serena was putting up a good fight in maintaining the conversation, but Sycamore was genuinely impressed at both of them. _Good grief, what is that kid on?_ Something borderline illegal, he didn’t doubt. At least they were evenly matched in that regard. The two seemed to have hit it off, so the three professors resumed their discussion on evolution. Sycamore relinquished his control of the conversation and listened with interest to the other twos’ most recent discoveries. He’d almost forgotten all about the rest of the event until Diantha appeared at his elbow. 

“Augustine! Mon ami, are you ready?”

The speech. Oh yeah... He nodded and shuffled out of his chair hurriedly, legs tangling. He had to slam his hand onto the table to stop from falling. The sudden jolt interrupted Serena’s confusion nicely. She also leapt to her feet, making her apologies. "Sorry, I'll come back to talk later. I need to finish selling these" She grabbed the raffle tickets and hurried off to the next table. 

He failed to stifle his giggle at the sight of her hasty escape. Diantha gave him a curious look. “I’ll explain later. I think you may have to push back the exhibition match until all the tickets have been sold.”

Diantha’s eyes tracked Serena’s departure thoughtfully, and Sycamore nudged her. “Just over there, is it?” She nodded. He slowly picked his way between the noisy tables and towards a dais that had been built on the edge of the dance floor. It was resplendent with even more of those funny little lights that Diantha seemed to have amassed in their millions. It was like standing on a cloud of fireflies, or a living manifestation of every fire department’s worst nightmare. He tugged out his speech, narrowly avoided dropping it onto the floor, and tucked himself behind the podium.

He ran a hand through his hair, more out of nerves than any real fashion consciousness, and cleared his throat. “Good evening everyone, and welcome to this gala event! I’d like to especially welcome our wonderful delegates, visiting from other countries. It’s a pleasure to have you here in Kalos, and I hope that you enjoy your stay very much.”

As he spoke, his eyes roved the room. He stuttered slightly when he spotted a long jacket, leaning up against a wall of roses. Looker. Only a moment of silence interrupted his train of thought before he picked up again, but it was enough to draw an annoyed look from the detective. He raised a finger to his lips, and Sycamore looked away. He kept talking, but his brain had sparked into life. _Where exactly has Lysandre gotten to?_

He glanced back at his paper, trying to quash the rising feeling of dread. The words falling from his lips somehow still sounded normal. Almost nonchalant. He found himself leaning conversationally on the podium, making eye contact with anyone close enough. He was smiling. But the whole time his mind was on fire. _What is going on? He said that he’d be here to watch. Where is he?_

Maybe that was why Looker looked so irritable. Lysandre must have stood him up too. Ah well. At least it wasn’t just him left in the lurch. 

Sycamore flipped the page on his speech and kept going. No one appeared to be falling asleep. He realised with a pang that he had actually already given away most of this information while sitting with the visiting professors, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He curbed some of the less interesting statistics and added a bit of off-the-cuff information about how Pokémon can Mega Evolve. It wasn’t new information by any means, but some people in the front tables were looking a little glazed.

Then he spotted him.

Lysandre was hovering in the far corner. The mask was on and there was a drink in his hand, but he wasn’t touching it. His eyes were firmly locked on Sycamore’s every move. The knot of anxiety shifted. He felt himself smiling. And then he dropped the speech.

“My bad! One moment…”

He crouched to collect the strewn papers, too giddy with relief to care about the lapse. When he resurfaced, Lysandre was still standing there, but appeared to be resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. Ah well. Sycamore continued, racing a little over the final paragraph. When he stopped, the room burst into applause, either in amazement at his brilliance or in relief that he’d stopped talking. Either one was fine by him. He swapped places with Diantha, who launched into a discussion about her new movie. He tried not to fidget, but couldn’t take his eyes off the other man. Lysandre didn’t appear to be alone in his corner however. As Sycamore watched, he glimpsed another couple of figures moving towards him. He frowned. They were wearing long coats and masks, even though everyone else (Looker and Rowan aside) had put their coats away. 

He had a bad feeling about this. But what could he do? He stood rigidly on the podium while Diantha entranced the crowd. Her voice was everything that Sycamore’s just couldn’t manage: professional, compelling, consistent. Not prone to dropping things. He would have envied her if he weren’t so busy watching the happenings in the far end of the set-up.

Lysandre seemed to have noticed the others. He was standing straighter, focused on the nearest one. He was speaking softly, too soft for anyone else nearby to hear. Sycamore itched to storm over there and figure out what was going on. At least the other man didn’t seem too concerned?

“And now, we’re going to be drawing the results of the raffle!” Diantha’s voice cut into Sycamore’s immediate consciousness. “Serena, would you please bring the tickets up here?”

Sycamore flashed his student a grin as she strode onto the dais, swaying slightly in her brand new shoes. She returned the smile as she moved past him to give the box to Diantha. The former Champion gave the current one a hug, then spun her to face the audience. Sycamore had to reach out and support the small of her back as Serena nearly slipped. She rallied, face crimson, but stood to attention.

“Excellent! Now, I would like to thank you all for contributing to this raffle. We truly appreciate it. We will have several others running throughout the night, some of them even for luxury holidays! So please do dig deeply. It’s all for a brilliant cause: the arts and the sciences combined!” Diantha reached into the box. “And the winner of the exhibition match is… Mr Fleur-de-lis.”

Sycamore tried not to die inside. He really, really did. Judging by the look on Diantha’s face, he wasn’t the only one.

 

-

wildfillysama: Thank you for your patience and thank you so much for your support! Your feedback is amazing and I cannot thank you enough for it.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

The room broke into hearty applause. Sycamore’s hands flopped together instinctively, but his chest felt like it had just been hit by a sledgehammer. He tried to make eye contact with Lysandre, but even though the other man was facing him, he seemed entirely too stunned to register the attempt. His eyes looked glazed even from here.

_How could this have happened?_

He didn’t dare to look around too much. He kept smiling and trying not to visibly shake. He surveyed the room as discreetly as possible. _Try to make it natural. Everyone’s happy, no worries here!_ No sign of a familiar trench coat anywhere. Looker was probably having palpitations. And no wonder: their cover was completely blown.

Sycamore wasn’t a naturally suspicious person. Anyone could have confirmed that. But now his brain was turning over in new and unpleasant directions. _Why would someone put Lysandre’s name down for the match? There was only the slimmest of chances that his name would be called out._ If this was an intimidation tactic, it was balanced on one hell of a knife edge. There was no way that Diantha would have willingly called out that name if she’d had the choice.

_Is something else going on?_

If there was only a slim chance that Lysandre’s name would be called out, then maybe whoever had put it in there had designed some other ways of getting attention. Maybe this was just the tip of the iceberg. 

Sycamore’s neck seemed to have frozen into place. His beatific smile suddenly turned manic. The professor hoped that he wasn’t too obviously sweating, but most of all he hoped that someone would waken him from what was clearly a bad dream.

_What in Kalos’ name is going on here?_

As he looked about the room, seemingly in polite anticipation of the winner to approach the dais, he took in the expressions of those nearest to him. No one was looking worried. No one had started whispering. No one seemed to have recognised the former CEO’s name. At least some small mercies were still open to them.

_Maybe we can remedy this disaster after all._

Sycamore stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fists. He shot Serena a worried look as the crowd began to mutter, turning around and looking about the no-show. The young woman just looked confused. She was scanning the crowd, looking for her opponent.

 _Of course,_ he realised. _She hasn’t heard his full name before._ Maybe there was still a way to play it off. Lysandre looked thunderstruck. He hadn’t taken a single step in their direction. His eyes were locked on Diantha. Sycamore hadn’t seen that kind of mystified horror in quite some time, and his heart ached to see it make its appearance. _Merde… why did I convince him to come along with me? This is all my fault._

There was a shuffling amongst the crowd now, some soft murmuring. Diantha shot Sycamore a dangerous look. “Mr Fleur-de-lis, anyone? Last call!” she smiled brightly. “Oh dear, it looks like he’s not here! Must have ducked out. What unfortunate timing! Well, we can’t have that… We’ll just have to redraw until someone who _is_ here can win. The show must go on! Now, let me see…”

Lysandre looked away at last. Sycamore could almost feel the relief radiating off him. He wasn’t far off himself. It felt like he’d just aged ten years in a handful of seconds. He grinned broadly as a less controversial name was pulled from the bucket, suppressing a grimace. _Arceus. What have we gotten ourselves into?_

“Oh, goodness me… It’s none other than Mr Steven Stone! Congratulations!”

The watery applause for the mysterious Mr Fleur-de-lis was thrown aside in exchange for riotous cheering. At least this would definitely be a memorable match. With a look of polite surprise, Steven Stone unfolded from the head table. With a gracious nod to the other guests, he made his way up to the podium, smirking confidently at Serena. The easy grace with which he moved was entirely undeserved in the hands of someone so young, attractive and wealthy. He had to have some kind of awful flaw; otherwise it just wasn’t fair. Sycamore could swear that he could hear Serena’s poor juvenile brain go into meltdown from here. He tried to catch her eye and give her a reassuring smile, but whatever she was thinking as she stared at the slowly approaching League Champion, it certainly wasn’t going to be interrupted by her old Pokémon Professor. Ah, the wonders of youth.

 _Now_ he felt like a geriatric old man. Damn it all. He really needed a drink.

Steven approached and shook Diantha’s hand, then Serena’s. Sycamore was quietly impressed that one person could turn quite so crimson. Serena’s skills were certainly going to be tested, starting with her ability to think and move at the same time. Mercifully, the pale-haired Champion seemed completely oblivious to the tension radiating from Sycamore’s young protégé. 

Sycamore strode forward and shook Steven’s hand, grinning broadly. “Congratulations! What a delight this is. I most sincerely look forward to watching your match. Though, that being said, I’m sure Serena will give you far more than you have bargained for.” The innuendo flew majestically over the young man’s head, but Serena snapped out of her daze to give Sycamore the first glare he’d ever earned from the young woman. Oops.

“Wonderful, yes, congratulations again Steven.” Diantha smiled broadly. There was more than a little relief on her face. She cleared her throat, make-up shining under the lights. “Please follow Serena and I to the main floor, and we’ll get the show going! Everyone, feel free to come closer. We have special themed cocktails to go around!”

As the guests headed over to the makeshift battle arena – a brilliant white stage layered on top of the dance floor – Sycamore subtly shuffled away from the podium. Diantha didn’t even twitch. Serena was back to being entirely too stunned to notice as she trooped after Steven. The look in her eye was powerfully reminiscent of a trainer counting their Pokéballs before confronting a legendry creature. He was a little disappointed that he didn’t have the time to watch the destruction. But some things were more important right now. He bid a hasty retreat to the other end of the room. Lysandre was still loitering at the outskirts of the crowd, face a leaden mask. 

“Are you alright?” Sycamore hissed softly as he drew level with the downcast man. He touched his elbow anxiously. “I know it’s a stupid question, but I need to ask: do you know who would have done that? Have you spoken to anyone?”

Lysandre’s face flickered, but smoothed almost immediately. It was so swift that Sycamore nearly missed the gesture entirely. He narrowed his eyes. “No, Augustine. Though jarring, I wouldn’t discount the whole affair as a misprint or mispronunciation.”

“Mon cher, Diantha reads lines for a living. She wouldn’t get something like that wrong. And – no offence – but if she had any options to read other than your name, I’m pretty sure we both know she’d go for those options first. What are the chances of anyone else having something even remotely like your name?”

Lysandre looked away, lips pursed. “No matter. The issue, were it one in the first place, has been averted.”

“Averted? Lysandre, someone put your name down on purpose!”

“It was probably Looker, trying to get a flinch out of a guest. That bastard could care less about anything if it means getting results,” the taller man snapped. “It doesn’t matter any way. Just leave it alone.” The glare he turned on Sycamore was actually somewhat impressive. It made the other man step backwards a little. Apparently he was just getting on everyone’s nerves today.

“Ok, I get the point. I’ll drop the issue.” 

Lysandre blinked, shame-faced. Sycamore waved him away before he could say anything else. “How about I go and get us some drinks? I think we could both use it right now. I don’t know about you, but that little announcement just scared a few months off my lifespan.”

Lysandre nodded stiffly. Regret still framed his gaze. Sycamore hurried off in search of a waiter. He apologised for jostling a group of impeccably dressed women. They didn’t seem too concerned, but one of them gave him an appraising look through her long pink hair, elaborately styled over her face.

“Oh, Professor Sycamore, in a hurry?”

He had to do a double-take. “Malva! No, not at all. How can I help you?”

He’d never seen Malva in quite that get-up before. She was as radiant as she was fearsome. She gave a dismissive nod to her friends (followers?) and they moved away, pushing closer to the battle just starting up in the middle of the dance floor. They seemed neither offended nor surprised by the fact that they’d just been ordered away. An occupational hazard of associating with Malva, Sycamore supposed. 

“That little… display… up there. What the hell was that about?”

“What do you mean?”

Malva’s eyes flashed behind amber-lensed glasses. “Don’t play dumb with me, Professor. I know that one of you organised for that little stunt. Either it was you or it was Diantha. What are you playing at?”

“There was painfully little organisation on my behalf in anything that’s been happening this evening, Malva,” Sycamore protested. He leaned in closer and spoke more quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Lysandre. Why did you read his name? I thought he was undercover.” Malva snorted. “Pretty piss poor job you’re all doing, for the record. He stands out like a sore thumb over there.”

“I’m not sure why the name was read out.” Sycamore shook his head firmly. “Diatha was shocked. I’m sure you saw that. No way either of us would have done it on purpose.”

“Then why was his name there? Something’s fishy.” Malva gave him a calculating look. “You think someone’s trying to spook him?”

Sycamore shrugged. How much could he tell her? “Do you think anyone noticed the slip?”

“It wasn’t obvious to most people at least, I reckon. She’s one hell of an actress. Bounced right back as if she hadn’t just tried to call a felon up to the stage.” Malva grunted. She crossed her arms and peered over Sycamore’s shoulder, back in the direction of Lysandre. “I knew what that name meant. And I’m sure a few others did too, but they’ve kept their mouths shut. Wise, that. But whose dumb idea was it to invite _him_ here?”

“Ah… that would be mine.”

She gave him a look that could have melted steel. “Are you out of your mind, Professor, or just suicidal?”

“There was no reason for him not to attend,” Sycamore retorted, but there wasn’t much energy to it. _This is all my fault. I know it, he knows it, and everyone else knows it too._ “He’s done his time, he’s doing his rehab, and this is a good way for him to get out in the world again. He’s not doing any harm.”

“There are some who would say that’s not good enough.”

“Are you one of them?”

She yawned, examining a scarlet-painted nail. For a former Team Flare member, she didn’t seem to have any issues with integrating back into society. Her clothes were expensive and everyone knew her as a member of the Kalos Elite Four, not a criminal. Maybe there was hope for Lysandre yet. “I don’t have any opinion on the matter. At least – no opinion that I’m going to share here. You’d do well to watch your own opinions too, Professor Sycamore. Might make you look a bit dodgy.”

He didn’t know what to make of that comment. Or really of anything right now. He was desperate for that drink. “How about you go and say hi to him? I’m sure you could share opinions much more easily that way.”

Malva raised an eyebrow. He’d actually managed to shock her. “Do I need to spell out for you exactly why that’s a bad idea?”

“I think you’ve got more in common with each other than you’d prefer to admit.” _Where is this coming from? Go and get that drink, Augustine, and stop stirring up trouble!_ He’d have plenty of time to regret this move at his leisure later. But he just couldn’t help himself, apparently. “Don’t you want to go and say hello?”

Malva snorted, sipping at her own glass of whisky, but she looked distinctly awkward. She looked away, shooting a scowl in the direction of the battle. “Shouldn’t you be babysitting your precious student, not making people feel uncomfortable?”

“Really? I do apologise if I’ve put you on the spot,” Sycamore said hurriedly. Actually, he felt nothing of the sort. He just wanted to get away. “But I think you’d have to agree with me that Serena can most definitely handle herself. Lysandre, on the other hand… well, I’m not so sure right now.”

Oops. Maybe that was a bit sharp. Malva looked at him with something approaching appreciation. It was more than a little unsettling. “You’re not what I’d thought you were, Professor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess?” He offered her a short smile. “Go and see Lysandre. He doesn’t expect you to speak to him, but I suspect it could be good for both of you.”

Malva gave him an inscrutable look, took another swig from her whisky, and jerked her head over her shoulder. “Move along, Professor.”

He decided to follow suit. It was easier than trying to pick the remains out of that one. He turned and headed purposefully for the side of the room, where shiny hope in the form of a crystal-covered bar front was beckoning. At least Lysandre wouldn’t be alone now, he thought to himself as he waited for a free bartender to notice him. Though perhaps if company came in the form of Malva, solitude may be infinitely preferable.

“Augustine Sycamore,” a low voice interrupted his thoughts. “A moment of your time?”

It was Looker. Sycamore’s stomach sank. Apparently that drink was going to stay out of reach. He gave the man a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Bien-sûr!”

Looker ushered him away from the bar, off towards the washrooms. Cheers and gasps were still ringing out around the converted dance floor. It sounded like Serena and Steven were putting on a real show. Sycamore hoped that someone was recording. Looker led him off down a quiet hallway, then turned and cut him off. “The plan has not proceeded well,” he hissed. “There have been complications.”

“I noticed,” Sycamore replied drily. 

“Not just the raffle draw,” Looker said. He seemed even more haggard than usual. “Surveillance has been cut. Xerosic has undoubtedly figured out what was going on.”

“How did he do that?” Sycamore couldn’t keep the wonder out of his voice. It seemed impossible. But in fairness he had absolutely no idea what was going on in terms of organisation. 

“Diantha organised most of this event by herself. It was possible that in her rush she may have missed a few things.” Looker’s tone was still polite, but there was a bite of frustration underneath it all. “Rooms that should have been locked were not. It looks like Xerosic isn’t working alone any more.”

“Alright, fine.” Sycamore massaged his temples. “What do we need to do?”

“The target knows that we know that he knows that we’re here,” Looker said dully. “There is no more target.”

“Truly?”

“It’s likely that he has escaped.” Looker’s eyes were lidded, face downcast. “All of our preparations were for naught. Still, I appreciate your assistance in this matter, Professor Sycamore. Perhaps we came close after all.”

Sycamore shrugged, suppressing the urge to pat the other man on the shoulder. He hadn’t seen anyone look quite so defeated in… actually, it had been fairly recent. He kept his hand to himself. “Don’t worry, you did your best. There will be other chances.”

Looker frowned. “How do you know?”

“Process of elimination?” Actually, it was just a blanket pacifying statement. Sycamore thought longingly again of the cocktail with his name on it and way too many metres between them. “This won’t be the last chance you get. You should speak to Serena after all this is over. She can be very persistent when she gets an idea into her head. I’m sure she could help you out in your search.”

Looker scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps…” He nodded. “Again, thank you for your time tonight, Professor. I’ll let you go now.”

Looker strolled away and Sycamore watched him go, waiting until the man vanished into the crowd. All of a sudden, his urge to celebrate had passed. A dangerous criminal was on the loose and they’d somehow managed to stuff up badly enough that all this had happened. A drink was less tempting now. All Sycamore really wanted was a breath of fresh air. The pomp and ceremony of the party was turning to ash on his tongue.

Clearly he was not cut out for high-stress work environments.

An emergency exit by the kitchens was the perfect solution to his building claustrophobia. The night air hit his lungs in a welcome deluge. Sycamore leaned against the outer wall in relief. Things were much quieter out here. He could feel everything slowly resetting to normal. 

Another person seemed to have had the same idea. Sycamore gave the man a gentle smile. “Bonsoir.”

“Bonsoir.” The other man seemed distracted. He was peering at a clunky phone of some kind. Sycamore held his breath for a count and then exhaled. _I can do this again._ He was really looking forward to being back at the lab. 

“Do you need to borrow a phone?” he offered kindly. The other man looked up in surprise.

“Oh! No, it’s fine.” He slapped at the device again and shook his head. “Useless piece of junk.”

Sycamore couldn’t help but peer at it. “That’s pretty fancy. I’ve never seen anything like it before! Must be sensitive if it’s not working.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the stranger muttered. “Been nothing but trouble since I made it.”

“You made it? Amazing!”

The man perked up. He gave Sycamore a shy smile, pale face almost luminous in the dark. “It was nothing… just a foolish little side project I did while I was… at work. Started at work, I should say.” He looked away, crestfallen.

“Hard times?” Sycamore surmised. He gave a short laugh. “I know that feeling. My work’s been shocking recently. Haven’t been able to do anything. Thought this party could be a chance to get life back on track, but it’s just been a nightmare from start to finish.”

The other man nodded slowly. “I hear you there.”

“Actually, if your device isn’t working, I may know someone who could help with it,” Sycamore realised. “He’s really into technology and stuff like that. Basically a genius. If you want, I could show it to him?” At the shocked look on the other man’s face, he hurriedly added. “Only if you want to, of course. I totally respect your intellectual property! I know that’s a big deal with these kinds of things. But you seem stressed, so if it would help at all…”

“That’s very kind of you, but I know that no one out there could repair this device. It has… a very particular job to do.”

The more than Sycamore looked at this man, the more unhealthy he looked. His skin was positively sallow, and his dark grey suit fitted poorly under the heavy jacket. He could sympathise with a fellow scientific researcher down on his luck. But for a massive sweep of fortune, that could have been him. “Did you want to show it to someone in the party?” he asked gently. “Were you hoping to get someone to want to launch it?”

“Not exactly.” The man shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Sycamore any more. He was squinting up at the roof. Sycamore’s head followed the direction of his gaze. 

“Is there something wrong?”

“Shouldn’t be.”

A strange noise caught the edge of Sycamore’s hearing. Raised voices were coming from inside the gym. It wasn’t the usual loud sounds of excited conversation. Then someone started screaming. Sycamore jumped.

“What’s going on?” he started towards the door, but the stranger caught him by the arm.

“Don’t go in there. It’s not safe.”

Sycamore gave him a bewildered look. “What in Kalos’ name do you mean?” _Serena’s in there, and so’s Lysandre, Diantha, and all those people I was meant to look out for! Damn it all, why am I the worst host on the planet?_

The lights inside were flickering. The screaming picked up. Sycamore wrenched his arm free from the strange man. He was torn between rushing inside to help and staying to confront him. “What do you know about this?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Just a little demonstration. Nothing major.” The man waved his concerns away. “Trust me, the screams are all a big overreaction. I just got my project to appear and play with the lights a little. Just to get attention.”

“What in Arceus’ name could you project be?” Sycamore muttered. He felt queasy. “You need to get in there and shut it down!”

“No need, it’s already out.” His head was titled again, back up at the roof. Sycamore’s eyes caught sight of a figure, perched high above them. It was too dark to make out the features, but it looked like some kind of robot. No sooner had to spotted it than it was gone, leaping away around to the other side of the building.

Sycamore moved faster than he’d ever thought possible. He grabbed the stranger by the sleeve and pinned him against the wall. The other man was much heavier, but slapped against the bricks and exhaled in a rush. “Who are you? What are you trying to prove?”

No answer. The man seemed a bit winded. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, with the thick glasses over his eyes, but he certainly wasn’t opening his mouth. Sycamore shook his head in frustration. _I need to get in there and help! But I can’t let the culprit escape either…if he even is the culprit. I could just be randomly assaulting some drunkard with delusions of science._ “Why are you threatening innocent people?”

“Not innocent people,” the man snapped. “I’m not hurting anyone!”

“Then why do this?” Sycamore demanded. His hands were shaking. He really wasn’t designed for violent confrontations. The bigger man didn’t seem any better equipped though, so they remained in their frozen tableau. “If you wanted attention, that was a pretty terrible way to get it.”

“I’m warning people to stay away,” he growled. “There are people in there tonight with no right to be there. Criminals. Liars. They thought they could trap me, but I saw right through them. I sent them a message, and no one had to get hurt.”

Sycamore blinked. “Xerosic?”

The man’s mouth tightened. Two hands came up and Sycamore was shoved aside. He landed heavily, but staggered back to his feet, shaken. The bigger man was staring at him. “How do you know that name?”

Sycamore opened his mouth, then reconsidered his first thought. Probably best not to tell the antagonised larger man that he was part of the sting operation trying to catch him. “I know Lysandre.”

Xerosic flinched. He toyed with the device in his hands. “He wouldn’t tell you that name,” he said accusingly. But there was doubt in his voice. “Why would he tell you anything about me?”

“He hasn’t. He wanted to speak with you himself. It wasn’t anything to do with the police.” Sycamore was throwing up ideas the instant they came into his head. He really hoped that they wouldn’t betray him. “He was just going along with it to try and warn you before anything happened. That’s why he agreed to come out. He knew you’d recognise him straight away and know that something was wrong. Why else would someone so recognisable come out like this?”

Xerosic was looking thoughtful now. But his attention was snatched away by the sound of loud voices heading their way. The lights were back on, but people were heading for the emergency exits. Maybe his ‘non violent demonstration’ hadn’t been as safe as he’d planned. Sycamore took a step towards him. _I have to keep him here._

“Think about it, Xerosic.” 

Xerosic was playing with the device in his hands again. The robot from the roof suddenly appeared right beside them. Sycamore stared in confusion. There was someone inside the suit. It was smaller than he’d first thought. He gave the man a look of disgust. “What have you done? Is that a child in there?”

“She has suffered no ill effects,” Xerosic snarled. He grabbed hold of the suit. “Move! We need to get out of here!”

Sycamore rushed to grab hold of him, but the robot was too quick. It hauled Xerosic aloft in one bound and was away. Sycamore took off running after them. His feet hammered against the cobblestones, painful under his thin dress shoes. The twists and turns of the city’s alleyways were suddenly his worst opponents. He followed the small flashes coming from the robot’s visor. _There’s a child in there. He’s put a child in that suit!_

He ran and ran. Each bound took Xerosic and his captive from roof to roof. They were getting further and further away. Sycamore’s chest felt like it was going to burst. His feet were in agony. Slowly, reluctantly, he came to a stop. He watched miserably as the two figures vanished into the night. Looker was right: they had failed.

He glanced about himself dully. He was far from the centre of town, that was for sure. He slowly began to retrace his steps. 

_At least I can tell them what happened,_ he consoled himself. _At least the whole event wasn’t a complete disaster._

Aside from the fundraising aspect of it, that is. Arceus, what a mess.

By the time he made it back to the converted gym, almost everyone was gone. A few groups of people stood huddled near the entrance, waiting for taxis and talking in hushed voices. A few TV cameras were nearby. Sycamore spotted Diantha near the front of the crowd, speaking softly into a microphone. She looked utterly exhausted. He hurried over to her, wincing at his bruised feet. Dress shoes truly were the biggest evil out there right now.

“… no injuries to report, but we are of course terribly upset at this frightening development.” Diantha caught his eye and immediately lightened up. “Professor Sycamore, there you are!”

The cameras swung and Sycamore paled. Suddenly he was painful aware of how sweaty and dishevelled he probably looked. “I ran into the culprit just outside. Two of them: a man and a young girl that he’s got trapped in a cybernetic suit of some kind. I chased them, but they were able to get away.”

“Did your Pokémon follow?” Diantha asked urgently.

 _Merde! How could I have forgotten all about them?_ He shook his head in embarrassment. “Sorry… no… I completely forgot to try that. I was in such a panic to catch them that they completely slipped my mind. I need to go and make a report with the police now. Maybe if we’re lucky they can still catch up with them.”

He turned as if to leave and mercifully the cameras swept back over to Diantha. Sycamore excused himself through the new crowd that had built up around him and looked all over for any sign of Looker or Lysandre.

It occurred to him now, with no small sense of dread, that they were probably very unimpressed with his disappearing act. 

Officer Jenny was at his side immediately. “Professor, what can you tell me about the incident?”

Entirely too much, it turned out. Sycamore recited as much detail as he could remember. When the officer was finally satisfied, it felt like several years had passed. Sycamore’s voice was almost gone, and so too were most of the guests. The place was nearly deserted. But he still had some people to track down. 

He ducked back inside the gym and took in the disrepair with shock. Chairs had been flipped over and drinks spilled as people had headed for the door. The dance-floor-battlefield was scuffed up from the battle earlier, but it was positively respectable compared to the rest of the place. He could smell a hint of smoke in the air. There was no sign of any of the special guests whom he was meant to be taking care of. However, Serena approached him.

“Hey Professor, I saw you outside. Do you know what’s going on?”

No point in hiding the truth from her. “A man named Looker is likely going to contact you very soon about this case, Serena. We were hoping to track down a former member of Team Flare, but it looks like he got to us first.” 

“Team Flare did this?” Serena frowned. “I didn’t see much. I was too busy battling.”

“What did you see happen? I was outside when all the fun started, I regret.”

Serena gave him a funny look. “All of a sudden all of the lights went out and when they came back on, there was this… thing… in the middle of the ring. Then the lights went out again and it was running around, trashing the room. We could hear it but we couldn’t see it.”

Sycamore shook his head. “That’s… not what I hoped to hear.”

“Who’s behind all this, Professor? Is it… him?”

“Who?” Sycamore’s blank look was met with a disbelieving eyebrow quirk. “Oh! You think it was Lysandre? Absolutely not! You’ll need to speak with Looker about all this. I’m not actually sure how much I can tell you.”

Serena didn’t seem terribly impressed with any part of that answer. Sycamore sighed. “So, how did the battle go?”

“Didn’t get to finish,” she muttered peevishly. 

“Was it a close one?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I get the feeling he was toying with me. But I guess we’ll never know since the match got interrupted.”

“Where did Mr Stone go?”

She pointed towards the doors. “All the special guests got ushered out and into a bus by Diantha’s secretary. They’re all out of harm’s way at least. I stayed behind to try and help.”

“Did you see Lysandre, by any chance?”

She shook her head, eyes darkening. “Professor, are you sure that he had nothing to do with this?”

“Adamantly.” He had no idea where Lysandre could be right now. _Probably headed home at the first opportunity. He really didn’t want to be here, after all._ He looked back to Serena. She was stifling a yawn and rubbing at her arms. “Are you ok? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled. “Just got to make sure that no one needs any help and then I can head to the Pokémon centre.”

The Pokémon centre. Even with her Champion-level of pay, she was still sleeping in free dormitories. Sycamore wondered a little at that. “Do you want to stay at my apartment instead? The Pokémon centre’s going to be noisy, what with all the excitement going on. Everyone’s going to be up and gossiping or trying to get the story out of you.”

Serena flinched, then slowly nodded. “Ugh. Actually, yeah. That would be great, Professor.”

He had a couch to offer at least. He motioned towards the door. “Come on, Serena. Let’s get you out of here. The police can sort out the rest.”

They headed back to the lab. Thankfully they didn’t need a taxi. Sycamore’s aching feet were protesting this decision to invest in more exercise, but he didn’t have the heart to complain. Not when Serena looked dead on her feet and more than a little uncomfortable in her formalwear. The stores at the lab for starting-out trainers would more than supply her with spare clothes and toiletries for the night. As they trudged down the street, Sycamore warily eyed the approaching form of another person. 

“Serena, stay close, ok?” 

She gave him a funny look. “You ok, Professor?”

“Someone’s heading for us. In light of what’s been going on, I think we should avoid them.”

“I’m the Pokémon league champion. I can look after us, Professor.”

“I know, but still…” He trailed off. The figure was gaining speed. And height. And familiarity. “Oh, Lysandre!”

The other man didn’t slow down. He came right at them both and seized Sycamore by both shoulders, almost knocking him flat on his back with the impact. His pallid face was thunderous. 

“Augustine, what the hell are you playing at! Where did you go?”

“I found Xerosic and went after him. Didn’t manage to catch him, I’m afraid. Did try for a bit, but all I did was hurt my feet.”

A series of expressions cascaded down Lysandre’s face. His grip on Sycamore was almost painful, fingers starting to bruise. Sycamore shifted uncomfortably and the other man released him as if burned. “What the hell were you thinking, going after him alone?” he demanded. His voice was lower now, eyes flicking over to the stunned Serena.

“Not very much, to be honest. I was mostly trying to help. Didn’t work out that way, it would seem.”

Lysandre exhaled slowly. The look in his eyes promised that the conversation was definitely not over. But he turned to Serena and inclined his head politely. “I apologise if I startled you.” There was no matching apology for Sycamore.

She shook her head. “No worries.” The look she was giving them was entirely too measured now. Sycamore cleared his throat. 

“Serena will be staying at the apartment tonight. There has been a lot going on and she needs peace, not chased down by reporters or hassled by other people at the Pokémon centre. Is that alright with you, Lysandre?”

Yep, _way_ too measured now.

Lysandre nodded once. “I understand.” His voice was leaden, and Sycamore suppressed a groan.

“No, apparently you don’t. Come on. We’re all going back to the lab and I’m going to prove that I can organise _something_ tonight. No protests please.”

To his unending disbelief, for once it actually worked.

 

 

-

wildfillysama: So, so sorry about the delay! So many things have happened recently. Thank you for all your patience and kind feedback. I really appreciate it!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Sycmore bustled around the apartment, hauling blankets out from cupboards and dusting off the worst of the cobwebs. Surely he had enough to build a decent makeshift bed for Serena on the couch. He flipped the top blanket open and stared in dismay at the massive hole in the centre. _Who or what chewed a hole in this?_ He chucked it back into the back of the cupboard. The next one had a smattering of Arceus-knows-what stained down it. He shoved it back where it came from. _Could I ask Serena to use towels instead of a blanket?_

He shook his head and headed for his own room. _No, that would be awful even by my hosting standards. What a nightmare._ He shot an apologetic look at the two stony-faced trainers standing at opposite sides of his living room, pointedly not facing one another. The atmosphere was positively icy. He felt not unlike a small lantern trying to thaw a nuclear winter. 

“Sorry, sorry! Won’t be too long. I just seem to have misplaced my everything.”

Serena scratched her arm uncomfortably. “It’s no big deal, Professor. I can just go stay at the Pokémon Centre tonight. I appreciate the offer.” She glanced awkwardly around the room. “It was… nice to see your house.”

Lysandre glanced at her, but didn’t say anything. Was he checking for sarcasm? 

“Nonsense!” He waved her concern away. “You need your peace from all the chaos that the little… ah… incident may have caused. I’ll have a spot sorted out in a jiffy. Everything’s just a bit out of order since… _someone_ rearranged all my storage cupboards.”

Now that had been a thoroughly annoying discovery. Sycamore didn’t have much order in his personal life, but he liked to think that he knew where to find his clean towels when he needed them. Unfortunately, Lysandre had apparently taken it upon himself one afternoon to move the giant tumbleweed of clean washing, towels and linens from the floor and put them _away_. Outrageous. 

Serena smiled, but shook her head. “I appreciate it, Professor. But I don’t want to intrude… It’s late.”

“You’re not intruding at all, Serena,” he insisted, entirely contrary to Lysandre’s surly body language. The man glanced once at him and then looked away. From the angle Sycamore was standing, it looked like he was trying to burn a hole through the curtains with rage-powered eyes. Fascinating. “After all, what kind of a teacher would I be if I couldn’t support my student when she needs it? Best thing for you right now is peace and quiet. I can definitely provide both of those. Coincidentally, has anyone seen a loose Chespin running around? I swear he was sitting on the couch earlier.”

“It has been a bit of a… weird night,” Serena admitted. “I’ll keep an eye out for the Chespin, professor.” She shuffled from foot to foot, low heels scuffing against the floor. Her immaculate dress was looking more than a touch wrinkled.

“Excellent, you have my thanks! It didn’t seem too hostile. Mostly.” He cleared his throat. “Right, we’ll get you set up in here. Do you mind taking the couch? Unfortunately I don’t have a guest room as such at the moment, but I assure you that the couch is very comfortable. I have slept there by accident many times.”

Serena nodded amiably. “I’m fine with the couch, professor. The camp beds at the Pokémon Centre are pretty hard. Anything with a blanket and pillow will do.”

“Perfect! Do you want to call the Pokémon Centre and get someone to drop your stuff off to you?” There have to be some perks to being the Pokémon League Champion after all. You could pretty much guarantee that someone would fall over themselves looking for a chance to help out.

Serena didn’t look so convinced. “They would do that?” she sounded sceptical. “It’s late, professor. I don’t want to bother any one.”

“If you’re sure? Alright then. If you get desperate, I can get Dexio to do it.”

“Uh, never mind. Don’t bother him!”

“Fair enough.” _Looks like Dexio dodged a bullet he never knew was out there._ “I can round up a toothbrush and some spare clothes from the supplies downstairs. Are you sure you’re ok to have the couch? If not, I can- ”

“The couch is fine!” Serena hurriedly insisted. “Please, I don’t want to put you out of your way, professor.”

Lysandre let out a soft huff of frustration. Both Serena and Sycamore turned to him. The taller man glared, but said nothing. He appeared to have taken up the role of looming and judgemental furniture with great enthusiasm. Serena frowned. Sycamore’s own, more questioning look was completely ignored. _Charming._ “Lysandre, Serena, if you’d excuse me for a moment.” 

Serena nodded but Lysandre still said nothing. The two were watching one another closely now. Sycamore hurried away. _If they decide to have another battle, then I’d prefer not be caught in the crossfire._

His furniture, on the other hand, may not have too many options.

He shuffled down the fire escape and made his way to the storage rooms. Packs of pre-organised travelling clothes were lined up, ready-made for trainers who had hurried out of home before thinking about what it really meant to go on a round-the-world trip. Tags for different sizes and preferences swung from each rucksack. Sycamore fossicked into the nearest one that should be roughly Serena’s size. _Goodness she’s grown. She looks more professional than I do. At least toothbrushes are pretty universal._ He paused in his rifling. _Easier to just take the whole bag._ He lugged it over one shoulder and headed back up the stairs.

He dropped the bag at Serena’s feet. The two trainers were still standing as if riveted to the floor, unblinking as they surveyed one another. “Back in a minute!”

They didn’t even seem to notice him pass. Sycamore suppressed a sigh. _Any good tranquillisers in my supply cupboards, I wonder?_ Still no sign of Chespin either. One of the three was going to end up biting him, and he didn’t care to take bets on which.

Moving from cupboard to cupboard in search of bedding, Sycamore found himself criticising the décor even more than usual. His place didn’t look that shambolic, did it? Serena wouldn’t think him terribly unfashionable? At least since Lysandre had moved in the place had never been cleaner. Things even got vacuumed on a regular basis. That being said, Sycamore was never _around_ when the vacuuming took place. He hadn’t even shown Lysandre where the thing was kept. Nor had he heard it going off. He supposed that it was possible that the dust was simply too afraid to settle with Lysandre around.

A wad of sheets finally appeared, cunningly disguised as an orderly bundle in the cupboard nearest the bathroom. _Who on earth would fold a blanket?_ Sycamore shook his head in abject confusion, stacked sheets and blankets into his arms, and hurried back to the lounge. The couch cushions would have to do for pillows.

He reappeared at the living room door and the sight that met his eyes made his heart sink. Serena was clutching onto a wriggling Chespin and Lysandre was nowhere to be seen. _I guess there’s only so much awkward tension that one man can take._ At least nothing was on fire.

“Ah, I guess Lysandre must have been quite tired!” he laughed shortly. _That or the worst host ever._ “Here, I’ve found you some blankets. And everything else should be in that back.”

Serena ducked down and opened the rucksack curiously. Sycamore winced. “Ah, yes… Sorry about the colour. Looks like we got a big batch of bright yellow trainer supplies.” The pyjamas were a very fetching shade of neon yellow. At least she wouldn’t need a night light.

“I like it, don’t worry! Thanks, professor.” For all her cheeriness, there was something a bit subdued in her eyes. She settled down onto the couch beside the pile of hastily folded blankets. Chespin stopped wriggling and peered up at her thoughtfully. After a moment, it settled down and nestled into her arms happily, chirping to itself. She petted it absentmindedly. 

“He seems to have taken a real shine to you, Serena.” Sycamore perched on the arm of the couch, trying to keep the worry from his face. “Would you like to keep him? He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“Really?” Serena stared down at the grass-type in surprise. “You want me to have him?”

Sycamore grinned. “You started with Fennekin. Am I right in thinking that you don’t have a Chespin yet? If you ask me, it makes sense that you should eventually get the rest of the starters. After all, who better to show him the ropes than the Pokémon League Champion?”

 _It can only improve his personality._ Better not to let her know about his little destructive tendencies.

Some of the hesitation left Serena’s eyes. The young woman sat up straighter. “Of course! Thank you so much.” She petted Chespin’s forehead, but the little creature didn’t stir. It had settled down to sleep and was snoring like a miniature freight train. _Probably busy dreaming of more furnishing to ruin._ “I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know you will.” Sycamore smiled fondly. “Did you get enough to eat tonight?”

“I’m fine. I’m not really hungry after all those snacks.”

Sycamore’s own stomach had started a silent protest in response to too much stress for one evening. Food wasn’t going to happen for him either. “How about a hot drink then?”

“Isn’t it late for tea?” Serena stroked Chespin’s spikes. She couldn’t take her eyes off the little creature. _If I have to give her a Pokémon to make up for every single instance that Lysandre upsets her, then she’d better slow down on collecting them all. The Pokédex isn’t big enough for his manners._

“No such thing,” Sycamore declared. “Tea is fine at all times. And caffeine is no match for being exhausted. I for one am having a cup. Want to give me a hand? I can show you around while we’re at it. Wouldn’t want you getting stuck in a closet when you’re looking for the shower.”

Serena grinned and nodded. Sycamore led her away, leaving Chespin comfortably snoring away on the makeshift bed.

“Right, that’s Lysandre’s room through there. Don’t open that door if you can help it. That’s a cupboard to certain disaster, and that’s its twin right over there. Bathroom’s over here, and that’s my room down the end, just in case you need to ask me anything. Those are cupboards full of Arceus-knows-what. If you get the sudden and inexplicable urge to clean something, feel free to go for it.”

“Not going to happen, professor.”

“Me neither.” The kitchen was less untidy than usual, but Serena still had to sidestep over a pile of rejected papers. “Sorry about the mess. You know how it is…”

“You’re working on something new?” Serena peered at the topmost sheet of paper, contents obscured by scribbled amendments and part of the previous night’s dinner. “You’re always so busy!”

“Sort of.” Recapping his most recent studies would probably put Serena to sleep faster than anything else. Sycamore refrained from elaborating. “Mostly I’ve been stuck doing planning for the event tonight. Perhaps in hindsight I should have given it more time.”

Serena shook her head. “I still don’t know what that thing was. One minute I was in the middle of a battle, and the next thing I know, all the lights are off and everyone is screaming. For a moment I thought I’d shorted out the lights myself with the last electric attack I’d used.”

“Not your fault at all.” Sycamore fished a trio of clean mugs off the drying rack. “We didn’t anticipate a surprise attack. At least no one was hurt.”

“Who was that?” Serena took the mugs from him and set them on the counter. “The person in the suit. Do you know them?”

Sycamore shook his head. “Regretfully, no. I was hoping that I could help shed some light by chasing after the culprits. Unfortunately, I was not up to the challenge. I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.”

There was steel in Serena’s eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Sycamore nodded vaguely at her. _Oh, I’m certain of it._ He dipped the conversation in a new direction to cut the tension.“When were you last back in your home town?”

Serena winced. “Uh, a few weeks ago. I should really stop by and say hi to my mum again. And clean my own room. I kind of left everything in a big mess when I last visited. She might be angry about that, actually…”

Sycamore chuckled and set the kettle to boil, dusting off some stray toaster crumbs from the bench top. The mugs looked clean enough to not poison his student. “Might be best to make amends, hm?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Serena nodded as he waved a box of peppermint tea leaves in her direction. “It’s been a while. But it’s been good to be back in Lumiose City, even with all the weird things that have been going on.”

“You should contact Looker before you go.” He dumped leaves into the mugs, then remembered that he was meant to strain them. He fished them out with a teaspoon, scattering leaves all over the bench. Sweeping them into the teapot wasn’t half as elegant as he’d hoped it would be, but Serena didn’t seem too concerned. She was peering at her Holocaster, inspecting something on the screen. When she looked up again, her face was shrewd.

“Looker the detective… Does he have anything to do with the strange robot that was at the ball? He’s trying to track it down, or the person who made it?”

“I think so.” Sycamore lifted the kettle. _Underfilled. Damn it!_ He sloshed it back under the tap and set it to boil again. “He’s been after some guy called Xerosic for a while. You may have met him when you entered the Team Flare base.”

Serena’s eyes darkened. “Yes. That’s a familiar name.” She shut off her Holocaster. “I guess I can help Looker after all.”

 _I wonder if mentioning Team Flare was a good idea. Bad enough that she’s sharing a roof with its former head,_ Sycamore thought with a pang. Hastily he changed the subject. “So, will you be meeting with Hoenn’s champion any time soon?”

Serena blanched. “Wh-what?”

“You didn’t get much of a chance to talk,” Sycamore continued innocently. “It would be a great opportunity for the two of you to get together and talk about strategies. You’re pretty close in age after all… best to stick together! Besides, maybe he’ll be interesting in working to take down Xerosic.”

“Oh.” She relaxed, but the flush on her cheeks was still prominent. Sycamore almost felt bad about teasing her, but considering the person in question, she could only thank him for it later. “I guess that would be a good idea, yeah.”

“Do you have his contact details? I’ll forward his number to your Holocaster.”

Maybe a touch too direct. But Serena’s hesitation waned almost immediately. “Uh… thanks, professor.”

“Excellent. This should help your Pokédex out too! It’s possible that Mr Stone knows the locations of the few Pokémon you haven’t yet encountered. A collaborative project would be very beneficial.” He trailed off. _Maybe I’m overselling this._ Serena had gone very quiet. Sycamore busied himself with pouring out what could only be very inferior peppermint tea. The third mug sat empty. If Lysandre had heard the kettle boil, then he had opted not to appear. Sycamore tried to ignore it. He handed Serena her mug and motioned towards the other room. They trooped back in silence past Lysandre’s door. Or at least, it was in silence until they got back to the living room.

“Professor, why is Lysandre living in your house?”

Sycamore eased into the spare armchair very slowly. How to phrase this? “He hadn’t anywhere else to go.” 

“But why come here? Back to Lumiose?” Serena didn’t sit down. She hovered by the blanket-laden couch, bright eyes lidded with concern. “Isn’t it a bad idea for him to be surrounded by so many reminders of what happened?”

Chespin’s snores punctuated the silence while Sycamore mulled over his answer. He was more aware than ever of the cracked open door and Lysandre’s room just opposite. Communication wasn’t exactly at an all-time high. Was it wrong to confide in the young woman before him? Sycamore took a sip of tea and folded his arms thoughtfully.

“It’s not a matter of wanting to be here, I’m afraid. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if he had any other choice he’d rather be elsewhere. But Lysandre took my offer of hospitality, even though he had every option to ignore it.”

“Why did you offer to let him stay?” Serena didn’t sound askance. She seemed genuinely confused. The unspoken _after everything he did?_ hung in the air.

Sycamore opted to evade the awkward bits of the question. “His properties and all his money were surrendered to the city. He doesn’t have anything to his name. Not much, anyway. He doesn’t want it. I couldn’t leave him out there with nothing. No matter what happens, we look after our friends. When our friends make bad decisions, it’s not our responsibility to make bad ones as well.”

“I know he’s your friend, but isn’t this a bit much? After everything he did, why would you let him come back? Aren’t you worried that he’s going to…I don’t know!” She stopped. She cleared her throat, then seemed to remember her tea. She slumped down onto the couch, almost spilling it and nearly sitting on Chespin. She shuffled around awkwardly for a bit and Sycamore felt a flash of kindred spirit. 

“Have your friends ever hurt your feelings before, Serena?” Sycamore asked her softly. “Have they ever made mistakes?” She didn’t respond. He continued. “People don’t always act in accordance with their wishes. No one is perfect.”

“Trying to destroy the world is a lot more dramatic than telling me that my haircut looks bad!”

“Not many people think about destroying the world when they’re upset. But not everyone thinks the same way. Unfortunately, when Lysandre was in a bad place, he was in a bad place with a whole lot of money, technology, and information. That gave him a bit more ammunition than the average person.”

“That’s not good enough!” she snapped. Her face was tight, pinched with worry. Chespin woke up with a squeak. He turned in a tight circle, resettling to sleep a little further away from the anxious trainer. “Friends don’t do that to each other! There are some boundaries that you just don’t cross, and Lysandre went over every single one of them.”

Sycamore opened his mouth and shut it again. _She’s… not exactly wrong there._ He looked away. Serena wasn’t done yet though. She rose from her chair again, fists clenched.

“You weren’t there at the lab, professor. I had to battle him… my friends were standing right there. They couldn’t do anything. Xerneas was in so much pain. It was a nightmare. He would have done it too! He would have ended us all if it hadn’t been for me and for my Pokémon!”

“You’re right.” The words sounded utterly defeated even to Sycamore.

“I know my friends would never do anything like that,” Serena continued. Some of her frustration seemed to have abated in the face of his obvious discomfort. She was looking at him with an alarming amount of pity. “You don’t owe him anything, professor. It’s not your job to fix his mistakes.”

Sycamore cleared his throat. “That’s not what’s going on here.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“You did more for him than I ever could back there with Xerneas.” Sycamore shook his head slightly. “It’s thanks to you that we’re all still here. We all know it, Serena. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s not your job to thank me, professor.” Her smile was crooked. “You’ve done so much for me already.” 

“But I’m saying thank you anyway.” He returned the smile as best as he could. “It doesn’t change much, but it’s still important. You did the best, most amazing thing back then, but what comes next isn’t easy either. It’s about living with consequences and trying to make the best out of them. It’s my decision to help Lysandre through this part. He was my friend before all of this happened, and I don’t want him to be destroyed by this. ”

A stony silence seized the room. Sycamore sipped at his tea, staring at the wall. His brain was tired, but it was also trying to order thoughts that seemed to have suddenly whirled around and gone all over the place. He thought he knew what he was doing, but could he really be sure? Was Lysandre truly happy here? 

Serena broke the quiet at last, hands on her hips and face set with an expression he’d never seen before. She looked far older. “Professor, why have you given him another chance? Tell me honestly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know he’s your friend, but he doesn’t really act like it. I mean, he nearly shoved you over tonight. And he didn’t say a word the whole time we were in the living room. I thought maybe he’d say something to me, but he just stood there and glared at the wall. I thought he was going to say something but he just shoved Chespin at me and stomped off. You stand up for him all the time, but he doesn’t say a thing about you.”

Sycamore turned to face her fully, abandoning the tea. “He’s not a perfect person. He’s touchy and grouchy and he never really says what he means. But he’s a good person. He means well. He’s clever and funny when he feels like it. And he’s trying to fix what’s broken, and I don’t just mean the laws that he ignored back then. You support people you care about when they’re ill, and that’s what he’s been for a long time.”

Serena nodded slowly, but brow was still furrowed. “Professor, I hear what you’re saying. But I’m still worried… I don’t know if he’s as good a friend to you as you are to him. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“You’re right, Miss Serena.”

Sycamore’s heart stopped. He looked up. Lysandre was standing in the doorway, still wearing his suit and the most shuttered look he’d ever seen on the man’s face. _How much of that did he just overhear?_ he thought with a stab of guilt.

Lysandre took a couple of steps forward, still managing to remain on the outskirts of the room. His scarlet hair was even starker than usual against his face. His voice was hoarse. “I owe Augustine far more than I can ever repay. I have not been a good friend to him. I have not been a good person either. It is a constant mystery to me just why and how he persists in working with me.”

Serena met Lysandre’s eyes fearlessly. One foot tapped behind the other, and Sycamore almost thought that she was going to reach for her Pokéballs. “I don’t know how you earned the Professor’s friendship, but you’d better not squander it. If you ever hurt him, then it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Sycamore flinched. “Serena!”

Lysandre didn’t look away. “And I would wholeheartedly welcome your retribution, Serena.”

The two appeared to be engaged in a truly fascinating staring contest. Sycamore eyed his tea and pretended to be elsewhere. After a few moments, Serena looked away. Her face was sombre. She reached for her mug, abandoned on the floor, and gave Sycamore a smile. “Thanks professor. I’ll turn in for the night, if that’s ok?”

“Oh, oui, certainement!” Sycamore hurried to his feet and to the hallway, sidling past Lysandre. The taller man stiffened, shifting back a fraction and then leaving the room as well. “Have a good night, Serena.”

He shut the door. Lysandre was already turning away back towards his own room, but Sycamore caught him by the shoulder. “Ah, a word, please?”

The taller man gave him a slight nod. Struck by the confines of the hallway, Sycamore wordlessly motioned towards his room. At least there they could speak privately and without sharing a wall with the kitchen. Serena didn’t need to be privy to whatever argument they may be about to kick off. The former Team Flare boss was certainly walking as though he expected a fight; his back ramrod straight and jaw clenched. Sycamore could almost hear his teeth straining under the pressure. They entered his room, and Sycamore kicked the door shut.

He didn’t immediately speak. Frankly, the words were having a hard time coming to him. Lysandre seemed distracted as well. It occurred to him that the other man had probably never been in his room before, not unless he was fond of snooping around while the professor was out. The mountains of laundry and old textbooks were more than likely a little horrifying to anyone not accustomed to their company. In keeping with the solemnity of the occasion however, Lysandre didn’t make any rude remarks.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Lysandre quirked an eyebrow. “You are the one who asked to speak with me, Augustine.”

“I know, but it sounds to me like there’s something you need to tell me.” Sycamore folded his arms. Keeping one of the junk piles between himself and the hulking trainer seemed like good idea for the moment. “I hate to say it, but Serena’s pretty much on the money with what she was saying.”

“In what way?” Lysandre’s voice was low and dangerous. His eyes glinted, locked onto Sycamore’s. The professor felt no fear, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t sincerely tempted to back down.

“I don’t know what you want,” Sycamore replied bluntly. “I don’t know if staying here is helping you, or if this place and me are just… inconveniencing you.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sycamore released a laugh with absolutely no humour in it. “I don’t know! You don’t talk to me about anything. You spend all of your time in your room, and I _know_ that you’ve got some things to figure out. And I know that you need space and privacy to do that. I know all that and I respect it. I really do. But I’d just like to clarify a few things.”

“Of course.” Lysandre had taken a step towards him, apparently unconsciously. Sycamore dimly noticed that his red beard was brushing his collar now, spikes disappearing lopsidedly into the lapels of his jacket. It was still a far cry from its old glory, but was definitely on its way. 

“Do you want to be here?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Of course.” Lysandre’s head tilted. “Should I not?”

“I’m just surprised that you answered so quickly.”

“I want to be here, Augustine.” His voice was low, as if embarrassed. 

Sycamore cocked his head to one side. “It’s nice to hear you speak plainly for once,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m just bothering you.” He chuckled wryly. “I know, it’s nearly 3a.m. The worst possible time to ask you these kinds of things. I don’t want to start a fight. I just want to know whether or not you’re happy, and whether you need me to step back or not.”

Lysandre looked like he’d just been punched. “Why in Arceus’ name would I want you to do that?” he ground out. He looked absolutely affronted. “Are you insane, Augustine?”

“I like to hope not,” Sycamore muttered. This was a _terrible_ idea. What had he been hoping to gain from this conversation? All he could focus on now was just how tempting it was to give up for the night. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s late. I should let you get some rest.”

But Lysandre had finally given up on the polite creeping forwards. He strode the rest of the distance in a heartbeat and grabbed Sycamore by both shoulders, lowering his head to look the other man in the eye. His face was a picture of regret. “I apologise for being so distant,” he ground out. “It was never my intention to make you worry.”

Sycamore looked up, blearily conscious of the overbright shine to Lysandre’s eyes. Was the other man holding back tears? It almost looked like it. Regret stabbed at Sycamore’s gut and he waved his hands frantically.

“Don’t be alarmed, please! I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

Lysandre’s jaw tightened. “Don’t _ever_ apologise to me for that. I absolutely do not require apologies from you, Augustine. Not now and not ever.” He straightened slightly from the stooped position, but his grip on the professor’s jacket didn’t lessen. He started to have serious concerns about its future well-being.

“I am not good at communicating my feelings,” Lysandre admitted. “I have been frustrated by my project of recent, and that has manifested in unpleasant ways. I have also been considerably discomfited by the event that happened tonight and all that was aligned with it. But that isn’t your fault. I don’t mean to be illusive or surly. You are welcome to criticise either trait. I will do my best to correct them. It was never my intention to imply that I did not want either your company or that I didn’t appreciate everything that you’ve done from me. Frankly, I am unsure how I can ever repay you for all of your kindness.”

“There’s never been a question of payment, Lysandre,” Sycamore reassured him. He patted the other man vaguely on the elbow. It was the best that he could reach from this angle. Would it be polite to mention that he would like his shoulders back? “I don’t want anything.”

Lysandre’s eyes narrowed. “You are entitled to want something, Augustine.” His annoyance seemed to be building. “You never ask for enough!”

“What does that mean?”

Lysandre glared. “Tonight. You ran off without so much as a backward glance for your safety. You went out on a limb to track down a dangerous criminal, and didn’t even ask for back-up! You’re not a trainer, Augustine. You should leave these things to the professionals.”

Sycamore flared up. “I beg your pardon? I may not be in the same league as your illustrious self and Serena, but I can certainly figure out which part of a Pokéball is which!” _Not that I remembered that particular detail earlier in the night, but that’s besides the point!_ He took an abrupt step backwards, yanking free of the taller man.

“It’s not just that,” Lysandre continued, hands lowering. His hair was fighting loose from the ponytail again, spikes waving with agitation. “Everything that you were required to do tonight. All of it, you despise. You took centre stage even though I know _beyond all reasonable doubt_ just how much you _loathe_ public speaking. You had to run around after the guests. It’s the same old story; you spend all of your time bending over backwards to accommodate for the smallest demands of everyone else. Why don’t you ever ask for something for yourself for a change?”

Sycamore blinked. “I… don’t know what to say.” _I was a pretty awful host, you know._ In fairness, Lysandre may have had something in the same solar system as a point there. “I can’t say it’s ever crossed my mind. I like helping others. Just the way I am, I suppose.”

Lysandre sighed, but the exasperation was gone. He looked resigned more than anything else. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Does it make it harder for you to talk to me? Knowing that I tend to… be too accommodating?” Sycamore hazarded. It would kind of make sense, he realised. If Lysandre thought that he would overreact or overcompensate – at least in Lysandre’s own eyes – then maybe it would make him reluctant to speak up. “

“…To an extent, yes.” Lysandre glanced away. “It’s not your fault. I should have told you.” He looked back, expression stern again. “But that’s still no excuse for you rushing off the way you did tonight.”

“I’m a grown man, Lysandre,” Sycamore said wearily. “I can make my own decisions. Snap and terrible as they may be sometimes, I have to stand by them. I didn’t have much time for second thoughts tonight. Either I ran after Xerosic and took the chance of catching him, or I let him escape without even trying. I had to do it.”

“I know you did,” Lysandre groused. He shook his head. “I’m not being fair. I know that.”

Sycamore took a short step forward and reached up. He touched the other man’s chin gently, tugging his face up to look him in the eye again. “Promise me something? Promise that you’ll speak to me more. I’m sorry for making you worry, but it’s my right to decide who and why I’ll help out.”

“I’ll try.” Those eyes were even more intense than usual. Sycamore could feel a prickle of sweat break out down his spine. _Keep it together, Augustine._

“And if you need me to give you space, don’t obsess over telling me that. Just _tell_ me. Don’t leave me having to guess why and what you want.”

Lysandre nodded, eyes darkening. He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps delirious with fatigue. Sycamore gave him his most reassuring smile. “Time to get some rest, wouldn’t you agree?” He shifted his hand down and patted the man’s broad chest. 

With a short nod, Lysandre left the room. Sycamore shrugged out of his bedraggled suit, throwing it in the vague direction of a coat hanger, and crumpled into bed. He was asleep almost immediately.

He wasn’t sure when or why he woke again exactly. All of a sudden his eyes just snapped open. He blinked and rubbed at his face in confusion. It was pitch black and the alarm clock’s glowing numbers didn’t look like anything he could read. His eyes refused to focus. _Why in Arceus’ name am I awake?_ Then he heard the soft knock. He sat up in bed. _Serena?_ “Yes? You can open it.” Mercifully he had not been too tired to forget to put on pyjamas.

He flicked on his bedside light and the door creaked open. Lysandre’s towering silhouette filled almost the entirety of the doorway. Sycamore blinked muzzily, eyes still convinced that they shouldn’t have to work at this hour. “You ok, Lysandre?”

The other man slipped inside and shut the door. He crossed the room while Sycamore sat up straighter, rubbing at his eyes. “Are you ok?” he repeated.

“It’s no matter.” Lysandre sounded awfully awake for someone at whatever ungodly hour it was. “I needed to tell you something.”

“Right now? I know I said that I wanted us to talk more, but you don’t have to feel obliged to talk to me at all hours of the morning.” Sycamore griped, but without much feeling. He shuffled up against the headboard and patted the mattress next to him. “Sit. Pull up a… lab coat, I guess.” _When did that get here?_

“Excuse me?” Lysandre sounded confused. But the mattress dipped as he settled down next to him, perching a little awkwardly just a bit too far to the other side. Sycamore rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it when his vision blurred again. 

“Relax. Scooch over a bit. It’s cold and you’ve let a draft in.”

“What happened to your bedding, Augustine?” Lysandre seemed perplexed by the mountain of lab coats. In fairness, Sycamore assumed most people would be.

“Don’t worry, they’re flame-retardant. Nice and warm.”

A sigh rippled from the other man. Sycamore answered it with a pointed yawn. “I take it you had something on your mind other than my bed?”

A pause. Lysandre cleared his throat awkwardly and Sycamore’s brain caught up with what his words had just offered. He closed his eyes in embarrassment. “Ah, so, as I was saying… how can I help you, Lysandre?”

He heard Lysandre clear his throat. The bed shuffled slightly. “I wanted to wait, but I found myself unable to sleep. I apologise for disturbing you, but I wanted to tell you. What you do with the information is entirely your choice. I want you to know that there are no assumptions or demands to be placed on you because of it.”

“Dare I ask?” 

He felt rather than heard the next sigh. Lysandre’s voice was even softer. “Augustine, I love you. I don’t quite know what to do with the feeling, and I know for a fact that I am going about it terribly. But I want you to know that I want to get better for you.”

Sycamore was pretty sure that his mouth had just fallen open. “I… you do?”

Lysandre’s face was barely visible, but Sycamore could make out the firm line of his mouth. His eyes were serious. “I’m afraid so.”

“That’s… well… I…” Fatigue and shock all clambered around in his brain. Sycamore stopped reaching for words and took hold of the other man’s neck instead, hands fumbling upwards until he found each side of his jaw. Lysandre didn’t move. He seemed frozen between the professor’s hands. Sycamore exhaled slowly.

“Really?” He asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “You mean that?”

“Utterly.” Lysandre’s voice was still low, but there was a strength to it. His head inclined minutely between Sycamore’s hands. “Like no other.”

“That’s… good.”

Lysandre’s face was almost comical. He didn’t speak, but his mouth thinned. Sycamore winced. “That didn’t come out quite how I’d imagined it.”

“It’s no matter,” Lysandre muttered. “It is only a fragment of information. You are not obliged to do anything with it. But it occurred to me that I’d never said it.”

Sycamore squinted at him. His fingers were still flush and warm against the other man’s cheekbones, tangling gently in his beard. “What made you think that you ever had to say it?”

“Tonight, I panicked. I thought you had come to harm. I had been so busy being the victim of that detective’s ruse that I had never even considered that you could be in danger. When the lights went out and Xerosic’s toy appeared, I couldn’t find you. Somehow I just knew that you were in the worst possible place. Looker found me first. He mentioned that you had gone outside. I headed there as fast as I could, but there was no sight of you.”

Lysandre cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that before. My first thought was that you had been captured. There was no sign of a struggle, but that didn’t surprise me too much. You’re kind enough to volunteer to go along and just listen to what any captor would have to say. My device – “ he lifted his wrist, and Sycamore could see a new lump of shiny metal strapped there “– it could pick up strange readings. I followed them as fast as I could. We must have taken different streets. Maybe you turned back and returned to the Gym before I did. Either way, that run was the worst feeling in my life.”

“I don’t much care for exercise either,” Sycamore offered glibly. Lysandre gave him a weary look.

“The signal cut out and I still hadn’t found you. I started to wonder if I had been wrong. I doubled back to the Gym and found everyone gone. I… didn’t know what to do. I thought perhaps you may have headed home, if you were indeed not in abject danger. That’s when I found you. But Serena was there. You were never in any danger. Not with her around.” He shook his head, prying loose from Sycamore’s hold. “And I know exactly where I stand in her estimates. Exactly where I deserve to be.”

“In fairness, you didn’t exactly make a stellar impression on her,” Sycamore admonished softly. He stroked the other man’s wrist. “She will come around. You just need to give her time and reasons to believe that you mean well.”

“In time.” Lysandre nodded slowly, as if he didn’t believe it himself but was trying to make the best of it. 

“But all this… Lysandre, you don’t owe me that kind of explanation. You were worried about me. That’s normal. I do stupid things from time to time.”

“It’s not just that!” he hissed. Now it was Lysandre who reached out, taking Sycamore’s chin in one hand and the back of his head with the other. He tugged the other man forward, eyes blazing. “I realised what an idiot I had been. All of the things you’ve given me, and all that I’ve offered in return… absolutely nothing. I’ve been moody and uncooperative. You’ve been nothing but generosity. It can’t continue like this.”

Sycamore’s tongue wasn’t really cooperating, but he figured it was worth a try. “What do you propose?”

Lysandre’s fingers tightened, dragging on the professor’s flyaway hair but not enough to hurt. “No more. I’m not making you feel like a second-class citizen in your own home. I will make this right. I adore you, Augustine.”

 _Oh, to hell with it._ Sycamore pushed forward, taking Lysandre’s lips with rather more force than necessary, clashing their teeth together. It was clumsy, poorly thought-out, and utterly fitting. 

The pale man responded eagerly, running his hands through his hair and his tongue across the seam of the professor’s mouth. His body was rigid with anxiety and urgency, caught in crossed lines. Sycamore muttered what he was pretty sure was an incoherent queue of curses and pushed him back, following as the startled man sagged onto the mattress. He clambered onto Lysandre’s lap in a surprisingly fluid movement, kneading his hands into the other man’s chest. His heart pounded as he crouched over him. Every shocked exhalation was a blessing. Lysandre stared up at him in shock, the creases in his eyes belying his delight. Sycamore dipped down and gently kissed each one.

He felt a stirring within himself and an echo in Lysandre’s body. Heat shuddered down his spine and pooled in his groin. _Ah. Well... this isn’t exactly what I’d had in mind._

Some part of him knew that this wasn’t the best plan in history. That part was currently extremely outnumbered and being chased into the furthest corner of his brain in preparation for a gleeful ‘I told you so’ come-back tour. Sycamore bit his lip as he surveyed Lysandre’s expression. “Are you alright with this?”

The look on Lysandre’s face was priceless. His eyes widened in shock and then lowered with a growl. He reached for the professor and tugged him down insistently, cradling his face and kissing him soundly.

_I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, I suppose?_

Before long. the rest of Sycamore’s brain was nothing but heat and softness and urgency. Lysandre’s pupils were blown, his breath short. Every touch held nothing but gentle reverence. Lysandre’s own shirt had never been closed, and now Sycamore’s pyjama shirt was being unbuttoned delicately. The former Team Flare head was poised over his labour, until the professor lost patience and pulled the whole thing over his head in one – or three – uncooperative movements. Lysandre chuckled at his impatience, voice rich and eyes adoring. 

“Shut it, you,” Sycamore chided. He threw the shirt aside and lowered his hands back to the man’s chest. Arceus, they were built so differently! The scale of his hands against the other man just didn’t add up. He stroked and massaged, running fingers across the planes of skin. Little knots of scars budded here and there. Lab accidents, stray injuries… Sycamore didn’t know the stories, but pressed his lips against each one. Lysandre watched him, eyes lidded and hands clenched at his sides.

Sycamore sat up and cocked his head at him with a smile. “You can return the favour, you know.”

Lysandre didn’t need telling twice. He reached up eagerly, wide hands running the lines of Sycamore’s body in efficient paths. His fingers could cover more ground than Sycamore’s but lost nothing in gentleness. Sycamore bucked when Lysandre’s thumbs traced the sensitive hollow of his hips. The move drew a savage grin from the other man and his immediate attention.

“Is this alright for you, Augustine?” He sat up, tugging the other man flush against him. His mouth was on his ear, on his neck, moving to his collarbone. A layer of heat flooded to Sycamore’s skin. The professor rolled his eyes. _Touché._

“Certainement, mon cher. Kindly don’t stop.” 

He inclined his head and nipped on the thick cords of Lysandre’s neck. He buried his face into the other man’s long hair, pulled loose from its ponytail, and inhaled deeply. Ginger and lotus. Part of him knew that, the other part had just read Lysandre’s shampoo bottle in the shower. Both parts were very much in favour of the discovery. Lysandre’s skin was warm and soft beneath him, muscles almost still, but ghosting with the movements of other muscles further away. Sycamore’s tongue picked up a rhythm, circling and caressing, and Lysandre’s breath hitched. 

He was pulled back abruptly, catching only the shortest glimpse of Lysandre’s own intense expression before his mouth was claimed and his eyes shuttered. They picked up the pace, shifting and moving together. There was too much going on. Sycamore’s thoughts were banished entirely. All that mattered was this movement, the warmth and alternating gentleness and hardness that came from the radiant man beneath him. 

Lysandre’s hands were everywhere, moving as if recording every part of Sycamore’s tired but eager body for archival memory. Every ticklish flourish – at Sycamore’s knees, his wrists, and ribs – drew a smile and the brush of his lips against the professor’s cheek. It was utterly entrancing. Sycamore attempted to return the favour, but ironically was at a disadvantage from his position. His wrists were clamped, and Lysandre’s grin turned feral as he bit down on the professor’s exposed neck. Sycamore couldn’t supress the moan that burst from his lips unexpectedly, and Lysandre certainly didn’t bother to suppress his own surprised laugh.

Only Lysandre could make such a situation work so utterly well for him. Sycamore twisted, hands still confined but in no way a limitation. He bit into the larger mans’ neck and circled his tongue. Now he could _clearly_ here Lysandre swear in a decidedly unbeautiful fashion. He was hitched as the powerful muscles beneath him surged, bucking instinctively. He released his grip and wrapped his legs like a blanket around the other man’s waist. _Perfection._ Lysandre’s breath was ragged now, mouth more urgent. Sycamore cheerily followed.

At some point, the bulb in the lamp blew, and the room was dropped back into darkness. Lysandre swore exquisitely, but Sycamore was more than happy to distract hm. Darkness may have obscured the visuals, but the heat and contact seemed only more intense.

Eventually, satiated, their breathing slowed. Eager hands drew slow and lazy, moving in languid paths. Sweat crowned Sycamore’s head and he could feel the dampness through Lysandre’s long mane as well. Bodies spent, he curled against the other man’s chest, fingers threading through his hair while the other cupped his face with reverence. Lysandre dipped down and kissed his flushed mouth with a tenderness that almost had Sycamore writhe in embarrassment, in spite everything that had already transpired. 

Exhausted, he nuzzled against Lysandre’s bristly cheek. “Suffice to say, mon cher, the feeling is quite mutual.”

There was no response from Lysandre beyond a deep rumble in his chest. The taller man’s head sagged slowly forward. He was asleep already, nose buried in the professor’s forehead. Sycamore couldn’t exactly complain. 

He could, however, hope that Serena had not wandered past their door that night. It would take a lot more than a Chespin to cover up that bit of emotional scarring.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

When Sycamore woke up, he was greeted by a series of urgent considerations. He immediately went back to sleep. There was no need for that kind of thing. Certainly not at this time.

About half an hour later, his brain attempted again to return to full consciousness. Sycamore couldn’t say that he was very impressed with its decision. The bed was warm and there was a heavy but comforting weight stretched across his chest. No motivation to move whatsoever. Curiosity however did start to flicker to the surface. He cracked his eyes open to inspect the source of the weight. A long, muscular arm. Ah. That. He didn’t move.

Lysandre’s soft snores were amusing rather than grating. The man’s long red hair was everywhere. Long strands were tangled in Sycamore’s fingers, trapped under his head on the pillow, straying across the sheets. 

_He never mentioned that he has a shedding issue. Figures._ Sycamore wasn’t about to complain. Not unless he started drowning, that is.

The room was already bright, thanks to the less than stellar work ethic of his curtains. Though unable to crane his head over to inspect the clock, Sycamore had a feeling that it was late morning. The shambles that was his bedroom was filled with serene light and the promise of difficult questions at breakfast.

 _I really hope that Serena’s ok. And not too gifted in the hearing department._

A flush crept along Sycamore’s cheeks at the thought. He’d _attempted_ to be discreet. The old building’s walls were pretty thick. _It might take a few more gifts to buy her silence and forgiveness if it all went horribly wrong._

He stifled the urge to groan. No point in disturbing the peaceful Lysandre right now. Besides, the man was sensitive enough to take it the wrong way. For a former megalomaniac, multi-millionaire and CEO, not to mention distant royalty, he didn’t half have an inferiority complex. Sycamore had no such thing. He merely had some sense of residual shame for potentially scarring the mind of one of his students.

Well, it’s not like they’d been _too_ loud. After all, it had been late and dark and they had been a winning combination of tired, uncertain, and uncoordinated. Uncertainty on Lysandre’s part, that is. Sycamore had been just the right amount of tired to throw his inhibitions (and several other things) into the air. 

His muscles twinged pleasantly. He could only imagine what kind of acrobatics his hair was attempting. The other man, slumbering soundly at his side, still appeared to be out for the count. _Sleep is tempting, but I really should get up and see if I have any apologies to make._

Gingerly, trying not to disturb the comatose Lysandre, Sycamore managed to slide out of bed. He toed into the nearest pair of trousers he could find, extracted the least offensive shirt from his washing bundle, and remembered to pat his hair down a little before sneaking out of the room.

He padded through to the bathroom, mercifully not bumping into anyone along the way. The living room door had been closed. Whether that was because Serena was sleeping or attempting to block out some emotional trauma, it was impossible to tell. Sycamore scrubbed up, brushed his teeth, and re-emerged feeling like less of an irresponsible mentor figure. 

The door was still closed. Sycamore pottered up to it, leaning against the frame. No sounds were coming from the other side. _Better not intrude._

He went to the kitchen instead, and began making the noisiest cup of tea and plate of toast in history. His plan worked. The living room door cracked open and Serena emerged, bed-headed and sheepish.

“Ah, _bon matin_!”

“ _Matin? C’est l'après-midi…_ ” Serena mumbled, scrubbing at her eyes. She looked slightly horrified. “Sorry, professor! I didn’t mean to sleep in so much. I must have been more tired than I’d thought…”

Sycamore waved her away and motioned towards the stack of mostly not-charcoal toast. “Don’t apologise, Serena! I overslept a tad as well.” _Among other things._ “Feel free to wash up and I’ll sort out some breakfast.”

“Oh… ok. If you’re sure…” She trailed off, but was still too sleepy to put up much of a protest. Sycamore returned to plating up a fairly unrealistic quantity of toast. You could never be sure how much a teenager would eat, after all. 

They lingered in the kitchen, rather than heading back to the living room. Sycamore kept an ear out for the bedroom door. Whether or not Lysandre was awake was a mystery. Thankfully, Serena didn’t appear to be any the wiser.

“Did you sleep ok on the couch?”

She nodded. “Way better than some of the camp beds I’ve had, professor.”

“Glad to hear it! Chespin didn’t give you any trouble?”

The Pokémon in question was currently coated in jam and looking ecstatic about it. It looked up to give the professor a snide look, but didn’t move. Serena patted its head affectionately, not even minding the jam. “He was an angel. Thank you again so much, professor. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know you will.” He waved her away with a piece of toast. 

“Are you ok, professor? There’s an odd mark on your neck right there-”

“Never better!” He hastily yanked up his collar. “Must have caught myself shaving!”

Never mind that his whiskers were currently deviating off on their usual adventures. Serena tilted her head slightly in confusion, but didn’t push the issue. “Do you need a band-aid?”

“I’m quite alright,” he assured her. “I’ve been stuffing up my shaving for years. Nothing I haven’t gotten through before!”

She let the issue slide. Polishing off her toast crust, she then pulled out her Holocaster. “I got a message from Looker early this morning. I didn’t really hear it go off, but when I woke up I played it. He wants to meet with me. As soon as possible.”

“I figured he might.” Sycamore nodded into his coffee, accidentally burning his lip. “Does he have a lead on the stranger from last night?”

“I’m not too sure. It sounds like it.” She slipped the device back into her pocket. Her face was determined. “I guess I should sort a time with him soon.”

“It’s up to you. But I figure if anyone can handle it, it’s the Pokémon League champion.” He gave her a crooked grin. His burnt lip throbbed petulantly, but there was no way that he was admitting that it existed. “Do you still want Steven Stone’s number? Just for some back-up?”

She scowled at him. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re hinting at, professor. You don’t keep secrets very well.”

 _Secrets? That was a red flag to a Bouffalant, not a secret!_ He miraculously suppressed an eye roll. “Such cheek! I’m only trying to help. If you don’t want his number, then that’s fine.”

Serena didn’t reply. She jutted her chin out and paused for a moment. “…I may contact him later. If it proves too much for my team.” She was almost muttering. 

“I’ll message you the number later, in that case.” He allowed himself the grin. She deserved it, after that little bit of cheek. “Don’t think that I’m undermining your abilities in volunteering him to help. I don’t know what you’re going to face. This is a whole other side to Team Flare. Lysandre doesn’t know why Xerosic is such a focus right now. It’s a whole lot of unknowns, and if you need help, you’re not going to need just any old trainer to back you up.”

She nodded slowly. “I get it, professor.”

Sycamore thought that she was going to leave, but Serena instead reached out and pulled the kitchen door shut. He blinked at her curiously. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath, her voice still low. “Professor, are you really ok with having Lysandre staying here?”

“We covered this last night, Serena.”

“Not really.” She folded her arms. Had Sycamore not been gripping his morning coffee like a life support machine, he would have mirrored her. “He was standing in the room, so it’s not like you weren’t being pressured. I just want to know if you’re definitely happy with how things are. It just doesn’t seem fair that you should have to deal with his problems when even _he_ isn’t dealing with them.”

“It was my decision to make, Serena.” Sycamore replied mildly. The, ahem- _shaving wound_ on his neck itched accusingly. “I don’t regret it. And I never for one second thought that it would be easy.”

“Is he getting better?”

“In my eyes? Yes. All the time.”

Serena unfolded her arms. There was some relief in her eyes. Or at least, they looked a little less guarded. “Let me know if that ever changes, professor.”

“You’ll step in to defend my honour?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Technically… it would be the second time, wouldn’t it?”

 _Check and match, Serena._ Sycamore laughed shakily. “Well, you’re not wrong there!” _Arceus… the object of your affections tries to end the world once, and you never hear the end of it._

It took the trainer relatively little time to pack up her stuff and head out down the fire escape, Chespin now safely ensconced inside a Pokéball. Sycamore sent her Steven’s number the instant she disappeared from view, listening with amusement as the Holocaster chimed and Serena cursed, albeit only quietly, on her way down the ladder. She was growing up so fast.

Lysandre emerged not long after Serena vanished. His gaze was wary and his hair had been wrangled into its old mane. “She has left?”

Sycamore nodded. “Oui. Sorry, were you waiting long?” Lysandre was still dressed in his soft sleeping trousers and loosely buttoned shirt. For the usually immaculate man, it must have been completely out of the question for him to appear before the young trainer in that outfit. Trapped in Sycamore’s room without recourse… it occurred to the professor that he should probably check on all his belongings. They had probably been cleaned to within an inch of their lives by the bored former CEO.

“Not intolerably so.” Lysandre moved towards him slowly, still hesitant even after the previous night. Sycamore watched him with faint amusement. A hand reached out to touch his cheek. “You are well?”

“Tolerably so.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind though, I might duck into the shower.”

Lysandre drew back and let him pass. Sycamore wasn’t too surprised about the lack of offer to join him. Small steps.

He re-emerged from the shower just in time to madly dash for his ringing Holocaster. “Hello? Sorry!” He angled the screen to hide the fact that he was wearing a towel, not that his wet hair was any less incriminating.

“Augustine, I didn’t disturb you, did I?”

A droplet of rapidly cooling water nearly landed on the keypad. Sycamore tilted it away. “No, no, no issue at all! What can I do for you, Diantha? Is everything ok? Do you need me to come down and help with the clean-up?”

“No, it’s fine. The police have finished up their examination of the site and now the professionals are here to retrieve their gear and do the clean-up. No need to come down.”

“Ah, thanks.” He didn’t know how much questioning would be appropriate. He was feeling more than a little guilty about his impromptu high-speed chase and vanishing from the event. “You look tired, Diantha. Are you ok? Did the police keep you long last night?” 

“No, no.” She shook her head, the crown of braids just a touch less pristine than usual. “I’m quite alright. It’s been a busy morning, but Serena just showed up and met with Looker. She’s taken him right off my hands. I assume that I have you to thank for that?”

“Serena’s the one who needs thanking, not me.”

“All the same, Augustine. Thank you. The police have informed me that everything is under control and that the… mystery assailant… should not be an issue again.”

“That’s very good news.” He hesitated. “Are our guests doing alright? I’ve not heard anything more from them.”

“They’ve all been put up in the grandest hotel in the city, Augustine. I’m sure you can imagine just how well they’re doing. I’ve not heard a peep out of any of them. If you’re happy for me to give them your contact information, you might get a visit at some point or a request for a city tour, but from what I could glean, they’re all being very understanding about the disruption and don’t want to impose on us. The professors are talking about heading to a conference a few towns over, to make use of the extra time. I’m not sure what Steven Stone’s up to, but he may still be around if you wouldn’t mind speaking to him some more about Mega Evolution?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Maybe dry your hair before meeting with him, just as a thought?” She teased. Sycamore gave her a look of mock surprise.

“Oui? I suppose I shall take your famous fashion icon advice on board.” He scraped back the more intrusive strands from his face. “Did the… ah, _disruption,_ affect the intended profits at all? If so, I will personally insure all of the losses from my own funds-”

Diantha waved him to silence. “Augustine, don’t be ridiculous. We didn’t get to run the whole event, but that was not your fault. We will be suing the person responsible for crashing the party before the big auction at the end of the night, but otherwise we already made about two-thirds of our intended income. I’ll remove the percentage that paid for the venue and food, but after that, half of the remaining profits are yours.”

He nodded seriously. “Thank you again, Diantha. Thank you so much.”

“It’ll take a while to get the rest of the money out of that crook, but once he’s caught, we’ll get the rest for sure. In the meantime, I’ll wire you the funds now.” She gave him a small smile. “It should help keep your lab afloat a little while longer.”

After that, she made her goodbyes and Sycamore hung up. He paused a moment, then headed straight for his bedraggled computer. Shoving aside all of the forgotten and languishing papers and drafts, he keyed it into life and pulled up the lab's banking information. Sure enough, there was a new transfer from Diantha.

“Is it enough to make the building repairs?”

He jumped at Lysandre’s voice, but miraculously didn’t damage anything in the process. “Yes! I mean – yes, it should be. Barely. But we can get the lift fixed up and open for business again.” He shot the other man a look of relief. 

Lysandre didn’t look terribly impressed. Sycamore realised that he was still looking over the lab’s most recent transaction history. He hastily closed the screen, but the perturbed expression didn’t vanish.

“Augustine… those are not reassuring figures.”

“It’s a research lab, not a business. We don’t get into it to make money.”

“You won’t stay in it with those kinds of figures though either.” Lysandre raised an eyebrow. He didn’t move away from behind the desk. There was no way for Sycamore to sidle past. He was stuck. “What kind of outward expenses do you usually have? Those figures were all over the place, Augustine.”

“It’s hard to anticipate. Sometimes machines break and they need replaced. Sometimes new Pokémon come in that have special dietary requirements. Sometimes employees need sick leave or raises. It’s just how these things go.”

“What is your salary in all of this?” Lysandre’s eyes were stern. 

“It’s flexible.”

The expression got even more imposing. “ _Flexible?_ ”

“On paper I’m meant to get a set amount each month out of our research budget. In practice, we don’t always have that amount left over. So I make do.” Sycamore drew himself upright, trying to muster all of the dignity that a small towel had to offer. The files digging into his back weren’t exactly helping, but at least he could look Lysandre in the eye properly now. “I love my work, Lysandre. I’m not in it for the money. If money’s what I have to give up in order to get the place to run, and to keep my employees and Pokémon happy, then I’ll hand it over in a heartbeat. The figures aren’t pretty, but at least we aren’t at zero. Not any more, I mean.” 

Lysandre shook his head, kneading his eyes with one hand in exasperation. He looked torn between anger and admiration. “You are one of a kind, Augustine,” he informed him softly.

Sycamore didn’t have a response to that. His heart was hammering almost loudly enough to fill the silence. Lysandre drew closer, crowding in on him. The professor’s hands came up instinctively, leaving all faith in his towel-folding abilities to maintain some sense of decency. It was a very misplaced faith. Lysandre did not appear to condemn him for it.

The larger man’s arms encircled him. Sycamore was tugged forward, dislodging only one small stack of paper and the towel’s tenuous hold on modesty. He ignored it as the taller man’s lips met the junction of his neck and shoulder and began to move in gentle shifts. His skin prickled. Sycamore released a sigh he hadn’t even noticed that he was holding and nuzzled into Lysandre’s thick red hair.

“Don’t think that this means that I approve of your poor financial decisions, Augustine.” Lysandre muttered into his neck. “Disgraced though I may be, my company’s financial records were impeccable. I can show you what I know.”

Double-entendres helpfully rose in Sycamore’s throat, but he ignored them in favour of breathing over Lysandre’s ear and gently nipping the lobe. The groan from the other man was incredible. Leaning in, he used all the leverage that his working knowledge of physics had to offer to gain maximum access. He traced his way from Lysandre’s ear, to his neck, and back up to his mouth. The soft movements were becoming more demanding, faster and less elegant. Lysandre hissed and took control of the kiss, pushing Sycamore back and against the desk with a muffled yelp. 

In one surprisingly smooth motion, Lysandre lifted him up onto the desk. Even more paper abandoned its post. Sycamore honoured his years of stalwart training in this field and it ignored it completely. The neatly dressed man was becoming more and more dishevelled as the professor’s blind fingers closed over buttons and found purchase, tugging him free of jacket and shirt. Lysandre’s head dipped and Sycamore’s eyes fell closed as he felt his mouth move in adoring patterns across his torso. He leaned back, nudging his computer until he felt a creak.

“Lysandre,” he mumbled around the crests and troughs of sensation, “maybe another place?”

Lysandre glanced up at him irritably. “Your computer’s rubbish anyway.”

Sycamore opened his mouth to dispute that highly undisputable fact, but was cut off when Lysandre’s mouth took hold of a very _different_ part of his anatomy.

Conversation ceased to be a valid option for a substantial period of time after that.

Sycamore later revisted the shower, and this time was not distracted by Holocasters, computers, or reformed megalomaniacs. 

Next, he regained clothing and composure, and set about sending the newly-acquired money straight away to the pockets of the lift-repair company. The secretary was delighted to take custody of it and assured him that the final steps in replacing the lift would begin tomorrow. If all went according to plan, in one week the lab would be fully operational again. Sycamore joyfully sent out the news to all of his employees, who were slightly less enthused about the end of their all-expenses-paid holiday leave, but were still happy to hear from him.

“How’s things at the fort?” Dexio queried. “I heard about the big blow-up at the fundraiser. Sorry I couldn’t make it. I was visiting friends in Vaniville Town.”

“More or less ok now. We made enough money to get the repairs done at least. Still waiting to hear from the police when they catch the criminal responsible for ruining the night.” Sycamore breezed over the details as quickly as possible. No need to make the young man antsy about more criminal masterminds running around Lumiose. “Serena’s on the case, so I’m sure they’ll have the person responsible in custody in no time!”

“She does have a good track record with these things,” Dexio mused. He gave Sycamore a shy glance. “Uh… how’s the roommate?”

“Unnecessarily resourceful and dedicated to any tasks he takes on. Also rather excellent at cleaning the place. No complaints whatsoever.” Sycamore heard an amused snort coming from the direction of Lysandre’s room. The other man had retreated there to work on his new Holocaster project and so far had only emerged to get more tea.

“Um. That’s good I guess.” Dexio blinked as if stunned. “He’s still going to be working with us when everything’s normal again?”

“That’s the plan so far,” Sycamore nodded. “Unless he finds another project that requires more time, that is.”

“What kind of project are we talking about here?” Dexio looked alarmed. “Not a ‘getting more followers’ type of project, surely?”

Sycamore scowled at him. “Of course not! Nothing like that. I mean scientific research. What other projects are even worth mentioning?”

“I meant no offence, professor.’ Dexio held up one hand pacifyingly. “I just… wanted to check.”

“I’ll see you next week, Dexio. Looking forwards to getting more work done.” Sycamore ended the call.

He padded down the hall and peered in around Lysandre’s door. An impressive array of wires choked the floor. Boxes and trays full of tiny metallic components were stacked on the desk and bed. The man had borrowed one of his labcoats, which was doing interesting things to Sycamore’s hindbrain, and was carefully hunched over the tiny device.

“All going ok?” Sycamore murmured. “Can I give you a hand with anything?”

Lysandre shook his head minutely, as if afraid to talk. In his hands was a complex tweezer-like instrument, pinching a small piece of glass. Sycamore backed away. “I just need to head out for some groceries. Send me a message if you think of anything you need.”

Lysandre gave the same small nod, so Sycamore headed out.

A stylishly dressed young man with pale blue hair and the kind of face that makes questioning your sexuality an expedited process ambushed Sycamore just outside the nearest café. 

“Have you a moment free to talk, professor?” He asked politely. “If not, is there an ideal time to meet?”

“Steven Stone! A pleasure to see you again.” A broad grin broke over Sycamore’s face. “Of course! I’m not in a great hurry. What’s on your mind?”

“There’s somewhere that I would like to visit while I’m here in Kalos, but wanted to ask for some advice on how to get there. Do you know the Glittering Caves?”

“Sounds like your kind of thing, doesn’t it?” Sycamore replied cheerily. “I haven’t been there in ages, but I could certainly point you in the direction of someone who has! Or if you like, we could both go together? How long are you in Kalos for?”

“A few more days, perhaps. The League has not been very clear on when they need me to return. I daresay I could go off the grid for a little while longer.” The young man gave him a furtive look. “Would it be very out of your way to show me where the caves can be found?”

“Not at all. I don’t commence work until next week. I’d love to accompany you.” Sycamore paused. “Would you mind if someone else came along with us?”

Steven professed to the contrary. Sycamore cheerfully agreed to meet with him first thing tomorrow morning to set off on their impromptu tour. 

He could only hope that Lysandre wouldn’t be too offended about the sudden invitation. Or rather, conscription.

Serena _would_ be disappointed.

 

\- - -  
Thanks for reading and for all of your lovely comments! I promise I’m not dead, just very, very irresponsible.


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